LIP  :.  RY 

UNIVERSITY  ;:;   ^UlfORNIA 

RiVEi^SIDE 


MEMORIES    OF    MY    LIFE 


SAR.\1I   BERNHARDT   AS   OISMOXDA,    1  RUM   A   TALNTING    BY 
CHARTRAN. 


MEMORIES 
OF    MY    LIFE 

Being  my  Personal^   Professional, 

and  Social  Recollections  as 

Woman  and  Artist 

By 

SARAH    BERNHARDT 


D.     APPLETON     AND     COMPANY 
NEW     YORK  MCMVII 


r, 


Copyright,  1907,  by 
D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY 


Piiblislad  Oclubcr,  l'M7 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  I 

MY  AUNTS 


PAGE 

My  mother  and  her  sisters — The  "mask  of  butter" — The  beauty  of  my 
mother — Away  with  my  nurse — Life  in  a  concierge's  lodge — My  aunt 
comes  for  me — An  accident — I  must  go  to  school — Off  for  Auteuil — 
Mme.  Fressard  and  her  boarding  school — I  am  left  alone — Life  at  the 
pension — My  schoolmates — Back  to  Aunt  Rosine — My  father  and 
Rossini — My  disagreeable  Aunt  Faure — My  delightful  Uncle  Faure  1-16 


CHAPTER  II 

I  BEGIN  MY  CONVENT  LIFE 

Grandchamps  Convent — My  terror  of  the  cloister — The  lovely  Mother 
Superior — ^The  dormitory — The  garden — Farewell  to  my  father — My 
new  schoolmates — Compulsory  soup — The  despised  and  the  beloved 
Sister — Pets  and  playthings — I  rescue  a  playmate — Preparations 
for  the  archbishop's  visit — The  play  in  which  I  was  not  given  a  part 
— My  failure  as  a  costumer — How  I  got  a  part — Monseigneur's 
arrival — The  performance — The  tragedy  of  Monseigneur  Sibour — 
My  father  dies — I  am  baptized  and  confirmed 17-38 

CHAPTER   III 

A  PRANK  AND  ITS  RESULTS 

In  the  Pyrenees — Goat-herding  and  vacation  joys — Back  to  the  convent 
— ^The  Croizettes — A  soldier  in  the  convent — How  I  shocked  the 
nuns — "The  Angel  Raphael"  and  Cesar — A  night  of  horror — I  leave 
the  convent  forever — My  ambition      . 39-47 


("ON  ri:N'i's 

C'lIAPTKR    IV 
IN   FAMILY  COUNCIL  ASSEMBLKD 

PAGE 

A  fateful  (lay — Day-dreams  and  music  lessons — The  woes  of  making  my 
toilet — The  asscmblinR  of  the  family — The  obnoxious  notary — The 
council — My  relipious  aspirations — My  hopes  are  quenched — The 
Due  de  Morny's  advice — My  memory  of  Rachel — My  fate  is  decided 
— The  views  of  the  family — I  am  introduced  to  the  theater — My 
first  play  and  its  strange  effect  upon  me 48-60 


CHAPTER  V 

I   RECITE  "THE  TWO  PIGEONS" 

Plans  for  my  career — The  director  of  the  Conservatoire — I  study  for  the 
examination — The  rules  of  M.  Meydieu — Learning  Aricie — The 
examination  day — Dressing  for  the  ordeal — I  recite  a  fable — ^The 
result — How  I  announced  it — The  family  rejoices     ....  61-74 


CHAPTER  VI 
I  DECLINE  MATRIMONY  AND  WED  ART 

The  awakening  of  a  will — An  oiTer  of  marriage — I  am  forced  to  con- 
demn a  gentleman  to  death — I  win  a  prize — I  go  for  an  engagement — 
The  embarrassment  of  having  a  naughty  small  sister — I  lose  the 
engagement — I  find  encouragement  in  M.  Doucet — My  lessons — 
Fencing  and  elocution — Tribulations  with  a  coiffeur — I  enter  a  com- 
petition— The  prize  I  did  not  win — My  rival — Legends  that  defy 
history — An  humiliating  homecoming — The  offer  of  another  en- 
gagement— An  interview  at  the  Theatre  Fran^ais  and  its  happy 
outcome — My  aunt  has  a  celebration 75-97 


CHAPTER   Vn 
I  MAKE  MY'  DEBUT  AND   EXIT 

My  first  role — The  first  rehearsal — Troubles  with  the  costumer — The 
arraying  of  Iphiginie — The  make-up  shop — The  approach  of  the  first 
night — I  suffer  the  horrors  of  stage-fright — "Quand-mune" — The 

vi 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

ddbut — New  roles — The  disastrous  results  of  taking  my  sister  to  a 
ceremony — The  arrogance  of  a  manager — I  am  cheated  of  a  part 
and  cancel  my  engagement 98-110 


CHAPTER   VIII 

CASTLES  IN  SPAIN 

Broken  plans — I  receive  a  new  offer — I  interview  the  manager  of  the 
Gymnase — I  make  a  new  engagement — An  idiotic  role  in  an  imbecile 
play — I  determine  to  kill  myself — The  allurement  of  Spain  distracts 
me — I  follow  my  star — Sardou  and  my  letter  of  resignation — 
Marseilles  and  the  sea — At  Alicante — The  night  intruder — Gala 
days  at  Madrid — Back  to  Paris — My  mother's  illness — I  settle  down 
'  by  myself 111-123 


CHAPTER   IX 

I  RETURN  TO  THE  STAGE 

Fated  rives  me  back  to  the  theater — New  fields  at  the  Porte  Saint 
Martin — The  disadvantages  of  being  thin — New  prospects — An 
appointment  and  a  contract — ^A  death  and  another  debut — Success 
at  the  Odeon — I  appear  as  the  chorus — Happy  days — George  Sand 
— The  disciples  of  Victor  Hugo  disapprove  of  Dumas's  "Kean" — 
I  succeed  in  spite  of  a  hideous  costume — Frangois  Copp^e  and  "Le 
Passant" — The  triumph  of  "Le  Passant" — Our  summons  to  the 
Tuileries  —  A  rehearsal  before  imperial  spectators  —  Empress 
Eugenie's  feet — Feted  by  an  Emperor  and  a  Queen     .        .        .    124-145 


CHAPTER  X 

IN  FIRE  AND  WAR 

My  student  adorers — I  meet  with  some  curious  criticism — Gloomy  pre- 
sentiments— My  apartments  are  burned — Saving  my  grandmother 
■ — Ruin  and  devastation — My  benefit — Patti  sings  for  me — My  new 
home — Discomfort  and  worry — The  delayed  insuring — Kind  words 
from  friends — An  insulting  proposition — Evil  days — Rumors  of  war 
— The  nineteenth  of  July — I  am  taken  from  Paris — War  news — 
Success  of  the  German  arms — I  return  to  Paris  under  difficulties — I 

come  across  a  relative — Into  the  siege 146-164 

vii 


(().\ri:NTS 

CIIAITKR   XI 
I   ESTABLISH   MV   WAR   HOSI'ITAL 

PAGE 

Paris  in  war  times — My  ambulance  at  the  ( )d<5on — The  changes  brought  by 
war — (Jetting  supplies — The  Prefect's  coat — The  lady  of  the  Palais 
de  rindustric — Provisions  for  my  hospital — My  hospital  staff — 
Heroines  of  the  siege — Cowards  and  heroes — Christmas       .        .    16.5-177 


CHAITIOR   XII 

MORE  HOSPITAL  DAYS 

Sufferings  from  cold  and  hunger — Struggles  for  food  and  fuel — The 
bombardment  of  the  city — The  ravages  of  fighting — The  wounded — 
The  ambulance  is  fired  upon — The  bargaining  of  the  children — Toto — 
The  inventor  of  balloons — ^The  burial  of  the  maigrotte — I  receive 
news  from  my  family — The  horrors  of  night-time — My  fowls — The  end 
of  the  siege 178-194 


CHAPTER  XIII 

A  WARTIME  JOURNEY 

I  find  a  companion  for  my  flight  from  Paris — We  start  on  our  journey — 
Trouble  at  the  city  gates — Unwelcome  acquaintances — The  young 
cripple — A  tedious  railway  trip — A  German  inn — Crowded  out  of  a 
hotel — We  find  shelter — Some  wounded  admirers  and  a  dead  adorer 
— The  cry  of  the  woman — We  start  on  again         ....   195-206 


CHAPTER  XIV 

HOMBOURG  AND  RETURN 

At  the  station — Cierman  insolence — The  crowd  in  the  railway  carriage — 
The  surgeon  major  who  was  bound  to  smoke — We  are  wrecked — A 
dismal  prospect — A  dreary  search  for  shelter — The  wheelwright's  colt 
— Expensive  hospitality — 1  turn  cook — Crossing  a  battlefield  by 
night — The  robber.j  of  the  dead — The  capture  of  a  thief — Rest  at 
Cateau — Confusion  at  Cologne — German  kindness — How  I  make 
myself  sleep — We  a.  rive  at  Hombourg  and  start  back  again  for  Paris 

— Home  again 207-226 

viii 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  XV 

THE  COMMUNE  AND  VICTOR  HUGO 

PAGE 

Paris  after  the  war — Gambetta,  Rochefort,  and  Paul  de  Remusat — One 
man's  delicacy  of  mind — A  cowardly  Prefect  of  Police  and  his  revenge 
— The  Commune — Captain  O'Connor — Paris  in  ruins — Back  to  the 
theater — "Jean-Marie" — My  success  grows — My  mistaken  opinion 
of  Victor  Hugo — The  queen  and  her  valet — Victor  Hugo  improvises 
— Victor  Hugo's  kindness — Rehearsals  of  "Ruy  Bias" — A  Parisian 
first  night  and  what  it  meant  to  me — Victor  Hugo's  homage       .   227-240 

CHAPTER  XVI 

I  LEAVE  THE  ODEON 

The  night  of  the  triumph — A  talk  with  the  "Master" — A  forgotten 
luncheon — How  I  feel  when  I  receive  a  letter — Overtures  from  the 
Comedie  Fran^aise — Managerial  interference — Perrin  of  the  Com^die 
— I  sign  a  new  contract — I  lose  a  lawsuit — Victor  Hugo's  supper — 
The  death  of  M.  Chilly — Mamma  Lambquin's  premonitions       .   241-253 

CHAPTER  XVII 

I  RETURN  TO  THE  COMEDIE  FRANCAISE 

My  happy  memories  of  the  Odeon — I  return  to  an  old  battle-ground — 
A  Marquise  who  was  too  stout — M.  Sarcey's  account  of  my  d^but — 
The  reason  I  was  frightened — What  happened  to  my  mother — A 
strange  distribution  of  roles — My  growing  popularity  and  my  delight 
in  playing  jokes — Sophie  Croizette  as  a  rival — I  turn  my  energies  to 
sculpture — The  clash  of  the  "Croizettists"  and  the  "  Bernhardtists  " 
— A  fight  for  the  moon — Success  in  "Le  Sphinx" — A  childish  freak 
of  temperament — Zaire  triumphs — I  learn  something  useful  about 
my  acting 254-267 

CHAPTER   XVIII 

A  HOLIDAY  AND  NEW  SUCCESSES 

A  period  of  sculpturing — My  success  in  making  busts — My  coffin — A 
superfluous  hearse — A  holiday  in  Bretagne — The  delights  of  the 
shore — Painting  in  the  country — "L'Enfer  du  Plogoff" — Into  the 
abyss — "The  eyes  of  the  shipwrecked  ones" — "Sarah  Bernhardt's 
chair" — The  fete  of  Racine — I  play  the  role  of  Phedre — A  tangle 
of  authors  and  an  actress — Unforeseen  success — My  new  hotel  .  268-282 

ix 


("ON'J'KNTS 

CflAITKU    \IX 
BUSY   DAVS 

PAGE 

Alexandre  Dunuis,  fib — A  quarrel  and  a  reconciliation — The  partisans 
stir  up  more  trouble — "  L'Etrang^re " — The  grandmother  of  the 
sea — More  sculpturing — A  long  search  for  a  nioflel — The  missing 
hands  and  feet — Criticism  of  my  group — Appeasing  the  god  of  the 
bovn/eois — Luncheon  with  Victor  Hugo — "llernani" — The  tear 
of  Victor  Hugo 28;>-29.'i 

CHAPTER   XX 

A  BALLOON  ASCENSION 

"The  Young  Girl  and  Death" — How  my  energetic  versatility  aroused 
indignation — I  accept  an  invitation  to  go  ballooning — A  trip  through 
the  clouds — Dinner  among  the  stars — The  descent — Vachere — The 
journey  Ixick  to  Paris — A  storm  of  criticism — I  send  in  my  resigna- 
tion and  then  withdraw  it— A  trip  to  the  south — A  sale  in  the  open 
— A  ridiculous  Othello — Mr.  Jarrett,  impresario — I  agree  to  do 
independent  acting  in  London — More  trouble  with  the  Committee — 
The  Times  makes  an  announcement — The  end  of  disputes         .   294-307 

CHAPTER   XXI 

MY  LONDON  DEBUT 

Our  ridiculous  preparations  for  departure — "La  Quenelle,"  who  adored 
me,  and  his  life-preserver — A  carpet  of  flowers — We  find  the  Prince 
of  Wales  has  departed — My  welcome  and  the  journalists — Visitors — 
Hortense  Damian  and  her  "Chic  commandments" — My  short- 
comings as  a  recipient  of  kindnesses — London  hospitality — Rotten 
Row  and  the  Avenue  des  Acacias — My  first  experience  as  a  traqueuse 
— Trying  my  voice — My  fright — My  debut — What  the  critics 
thought  of  me 308-321 

CHAPTER    XXII 

MY  STAY  IN  ENGLAND 

I  overtax  my  strength — Outwitting  the  doctor — The  effect  of  a  dose 
of  opium — A  lapse  of  memory  and  the  talk  it  caused — Dumas's 
judgment  of  his  own  plays — I  exhibit  my  statues — Mr.  Gladstone 
and"Phedre" — The  success  of  my  exhibition — A  jaunt  to  Liverpool 

X 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

— I  hunt  for  lions — My  new  pets — My  homecoming  creates  a  sensa- 
tion— A  Bedlam  in  Chester  Square — How  I  suffered  from  the  press — 
The  tranquil  lady — The  company  opens  a  campaign  against  me — 
My  letter  to  M.  Wolff — I  hesitate  on  the  brink  of  lea\ang  the 
Com^die 322-337 

CHAPTER  XXIII 

I   AGAIN   LEAVE  THE  COMEDIE  FRANCAISE 

The  cruelties  of  pubhcity — My  first  interview  with  a  reporter — A  \dctim 
of  caricaturists — Perrin  tells  me  my  faults — An  anonymous  threat 
— My  re-appearance  in  Paris — An  intoxicating  triumph — The  dis- 
courtesy of  actors — Coquehn,  Mounet-Sully,  Bartet,  Rejane,  and 
Duse — ^Trying  times — "  L'Aventuriere  " — An  unjust  attack — I  send 
in  my  resignation — Cruel  slanders — Mr.  Jarrett  offers  a  new  proposi- 
tion— I  prepare  for  an  American  tour — The  sad  story  of  my  costume 
for  "Phedre" — The  Com^die  brings  suit  against  me — The  financial 
record  of  my  London  performances — Another  visit  to  London — I 
overcome  the  critics 338-354 

CHAPTER   XXIV 

PREPARATIONS  FOR  AMERICA 

Coquelin  deserts  me — The  charm  of  London — Brussels  and  Copen- 
hagen— A  Danish  triumph — A  visit  to  Elsinore — I  am  decorated  by 
the  King — An  international  supper  with. international  complications 
— The  fickleness  of  Fame — My  farewell  reception  at  Paris — Duquesnel 
proves  himself  my  friend — A  triumphant  tour  of  France — I  sign  a 
contract  with  the  "  Vaudeville  " — I  leave  Paris     ....   355-367 

CHAPTER  XXV 

MY  ARRIVAL  IN  AMERICA 

The  gnome-haunted  ship — I  embark  on  L'Amerique — Homesickness — 
The  widow  of  President  Lincoln — A  snowstorm  in  mid-ocean — 
The  steerage  passengers — A  child  is  born  in  the  steerage — What  if 
the  emigrants  should  mutiny? — Precautions  in  case  of  shipwreck — 
The  Promised  Land  of  the  emigrants — My  fete-day — The  harbor  of 
the  New  World — How  I  was  welcomed — A  fatiguing  reception — Rest 
under  compulsion — The  kind  of  man  Mr.  Jarrett  was — ^Another  re- 
ception— The   silly   questions  of   the   reporters — Press   agents   and 

slander 368-385 

xi 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER   XXVI 
NEW  YORK  AND   BOSTON 

PAGE 

I  go  to  Booth's  Theater  for  the  first  rehearnal — The  rrowd  at  the 
stage  door — The  customs  officers  come  to  examine  my  trunks — The 
treatment  of  my  costumcb — The  Brooklyn  Bridge — I  settle  with 
the  Board  of  Customs — I  make  my  first  appearance  in  "Adrienne 
liccouvreur" — I  am  serenaded — "La  Dame  aux  Camillas" — My 
sister  impersonates  me — The  journey  to  Menlo  Park — I  am  enter- 
tained in  fairyland  by  Mr.  Edison — Mr.  Edi.son  and  Napoleon  I. — 
AVe  start  for  lioston — Boston  women — An  extraordinary  personage 
— My  apartments — A  curious  experience  with  a  whale        .        .   386-401 

CHAPTER  XXVII 

I  VISIT  MONTREAL 

"Hernani"  in  Boston — Feminine  intellectuality — The  whale  follows  me 
to  New  Haven — Attentions  from  the  showman — I  start  for  Canada — 
My  entry  into  Montreal — A  cordial  welcome — A  greeting  from  a 
poet — I  cause  a  sensation  by  fainting — My  rescuer  and  his  tragedy — 
The  Bishop  of  Montreal  condemns  me — Ottawa  and  the  Iroquois — 
The  Montreal  students — An  adventure  on  the  ice         ...   402-414 

CHAPTER  XXVIII 

MY  TOUR  OF  THE  WESTERN    STATES 

Springfield  and  Springfield  audiences — I  inspect  Colt  gims — Baltimore 
— Philadelphia  and  Chicago — A  pleasant  sojourn — A  visit  to  the 
slaughtering  house — Another  bishop  condemns  me — St.  Louis — 
The  fish  without  eyes — My  jewels  are  exhibited — It  nearly  results  in 
a  tragedy — The  attempted  robbery — The  man  who  would  have 
robbed  me     ...  415-427 

CHAPTER  XXIX 

FROM  THE  GULF  TO  CANADA  AGAIN 

Cincinnati  and  then  South — Crossing  the  Mississippi  in  flood-time — 
A  braA-e  engineer — The  charm  of  New  Orleans — The  horrors  of  the 
flood — The  hairdresser  and  the  serpents — A  strange  reception  at 
Mobile — "La  Dame  aux  Camelias"  under  scenic  difficulties — A 
round  of  smaller  towns — Blocked  by  the  snow — A  snow  ball  fight — 
Pittsburg  and  a  former  friend — A  long  ride — A  mistaken  reporter  428-440 

xii 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  XXX 
END  OF  MY  AMERICAN  TOUR 

PAGE 

An  outing  at  Niagara  Falls — An  icy  excursion — I  am  presented  with  a 
miniature  of  the  Falls — Vanity  brings  me  to  ridicule — A  foolhardy 
escapade — A  memorable  performance  at  New  York — I  embark  for 
home — The  last  of  the  whale  man — A  stowaway — ^The  trip  home — 
A  glorious  reception  at  Havre — A  performance  for  the  life-savers — 
A  turning-point 441-456 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


FACING 
PAGE 


Sarah  Bernhardt  as  Gismonda,  from  a  Painting  by  Chartran  Frontispiece 

Rear  View  of  Grandchamps  Convent,  Versailles          .        .        .        .        .  20 

Sarah  Bernhardt  and  Her  Mother 36 

Le  Conservatoire  National  de  Musique  et  de  Declamation,  Paris     .        .  80 

Sarah  Bernliardt  in  the  Hands  of  her  Coiffeur     ......  86 

Sarah  Bernhardt  when  She  Left  the  Conservatory 94 

Sarah  Bernhardt  at  the  Time  of  Her  D^but  in  "Les  Femmes  Savantes"  104 

Sarah  Bernhardt  in  "Francois  le  Champi" 134 

An  Early  Portrait  of  Sarah  Bernhardt 170 

Sarah  Bernhardt  in  Riding  Habit 232 

Skull  in  Madame  Bernhardt's  Library,  with  Autograph  Verses  by  Victor 

Hugo 248 

"Ophelia" — Sculpture  by  Sarah  Bernhardt 258 

Sarah  Bernhardt  in  Her  Coffin 270 

Sarah  Bernhardt  Painting,  1878-9 280 

Sarah  Bernhardt  at  Work  on  Her  "  Med^e " 288 

Sarah  Bernhardt,  Portrait  by  Parrott,  1875 — in  the  Comedie  Fran^aise, 

Paris 296 

Sarah  Bernhardt,  Portrait  by  Clairin 304 

Sarah  Bernhardt,  from  an  Oil  Painting  by  Mile.  Louise  Abb^nia     .        .  332 

Sarah  Bernhardt  as  the  Due  de  Richelieu 338 

Sarah  Bernhardt,  1879 346 

The  Celebrated  Portrait  of  Sarah  Bernhardt,  Painted  by  Jules  Bastien- 

Lepage 352 

XV 


IJST    Ol'    ILM  SrilATIONS 


FACINO 
fAUL 


Mmc.  Sanih  IJcmluirdt  iiiul  Mcrnber.s  of  iJer  Company  (Jut  Shooting   .  362 

Hiist  of  Virtorion  Sardou  by  Sarah  liemhardt 366 

S;ir;ili  liiTiiliaidl  ill  'I'ravcllinK  CosliiiMc,  1S80 37« 

Sarah  Hernhardt  at  Iloine,  by  Walter  Spindler 390 

Sarah  liernhardt  as  Dofin  Sol  in  "  Hernani " 402 

("orner  in  Sarah  IJornhardt'.s  Paris  Home,  Showing  Painting  l)y  Chartran  410 

Lil)rary  in  Madame  Pcrnhardt's  House,  Paris 420 

Corner  in  Sarah  Bernhardt's  library,  Showing  Madame  Bemhardt'a 

Writing  Table  on  the  Left 426 

Th^Atre  Sarah  Bernhardt,  Paris 436 

Foyer  in  Madame  Bernhardt's  Theater,  Paris 442 

Sarah  Bernhardt  in  "L'Aiglon" — Painting  by  G.  Clairin           .        .        .  450 


MEMORIES  OF  MY  LIFE 


CHAPTER    I 


MY   AUNTS 


I Y  mother  was  fond  of  traveling :  she  would  go  from 
Spain  to  England,  from  London  to  Paris,  from  Paris 
to  Berlin,  and  from  there  to  Christiania ;  then  she 
would  come  back,  embrace  me,  and  set  out  again  for 
Holland,  her  native  country.  She  used  to  send  my  nurse  cloth- 
ing for  herself  and  cakes  for  me.  To  one  of  my  aunts  she  would 
write:  "  Look  after  little  Sarah;  I  shall  return  in  a  month's 
time. ' '  A  month  later  she  would  write  to  another  of  her  sisters : 
' '  Go  and  see  the  child  at  her  nurse 's ;  I  shall  be  back  in  a  couple 
of  weeks." 

My  mother 's  age  was  nineteen ;  I  was  three  years  old,  and  my 
two  aunts  were  seventeen  and  twenty  years  of  age ;  another  aunt 
was  fifteen,  and  the  eldest  was  twenty-eight,  but  the  latter  lived 
at  Martinique,  and  was  the  mother  of  six  children.  My  grand- 
mother was  blind,  my  grandfather  dead,  and  my  father  had 
been  in  China  for  the  last  two  years.  I  have  no  idea  why  he 
had  gone  there. 

My  youthful  aunts  were  always  promising  to  come  to  see  me, 
but  rarely  kept  their  word.  My  nurse  hailed  from  Brittany  and 
lived  near  Quimperle  in  a  little  white  house  with  a  low  thatched 
roof,  on  which  wild  gilly-flowers  grew.  That  was  the  first  flower 
which  charmed  my  eyes  as  a  child,  and  I  have  loved  it  ever  since. 
Its  leaves  are  heavy  and  sad-looking,  and  its  petals  are  made  of 
the  setting  sun. 

2  1 


MEMORIES    OF    MY    LIFE 

Brittany  is  u  l<tii<,'  wiiy  ofi",  cvi'ii  in  our  {)r<'sent  epoch  of 
velocity  of  travel,  hi  those  days  it  was  the  end  of  the  world. 
Fortunately,  my  nurse  was,  it  appears,  a  good,  kind  woman, 
and  as  her  own  child  liad  died,  she  had  only  me  to  love.  But  she 
loved  after  the  manner  of  poor  people — when  she  had  time. 

One  day,  as  her  husband  was  ill,  she  went  into  the  field  to 
help  gather  in  potatoes.  The  over-damp  soil  was  rotting  them, 
and  there  was  no  time  to  be  lost.  She  left  me  in  charge  of  her 
husband,  who  w^as  lying  on  his  Breton  bed  suffering  from  a  bad 
attack  of  lumbago.  The  good  woman  had  placed  me  in  my  high 
chair,  and  had  been  careful  to  put  in  the  wooden  peg  which  sup- 
ported the  narrow  tray  for  my  toys.  She  threw  a  fagot  in  the 
grate,  and  said  to  me  in  Breton  language:  (until  the  age  of  four 
I  only  understood  Breton)  "Be  a  good  girl,  Milk  Blossom." 
That  was  my  only  name  at  the  time.  When  she  had  gone,  I  tried 
to  withdraw  the  w^ooden  peg  which  she  had  taken  so  much  trou- 
ble to  put  in  place.  Finally,  I  succeeded  in  piLshing  aside  the 
little  rampart.  I  wanted  to  reach  the  ground,  but  poor  little 
me,  I  fell  into  the  fire  which  was  burning  joyfully. 

The  screams  of  my  foster-father,  who  could  not  move, 
brought  in  some  neighbors.  I  was  thrown,  all  smoking,  into  a 
large  pail  of  fresh  milk.  My  aunts  were  informed  of  what  had 
happened;  they  communicated  the  news  to  my  mother,  and,  for 
the  next  four  days,  that  quiet  part  of  the  country  was  plowed 
by  stagecoaches  that  arrived  in  rapid  succession.  ISly  aunts 
came  from  all  parts  of  the  world,  and  my  mother,  in  the  greatest 
alarm,  hastened  from  BriTssels  with  Baron  Larrey,  one  of  her 
friends,  who  was  a  young  doctor  just  beginning  to  acquire  celeb- 
rity, and  a  house  surgeon  w^hom  Baron  Larrey  had  brought 
with  him.  I  have  been  told  since  that  nothing  was  more  painful 
to  witness  and  yet  so  charming,  as  my  mother's  despair.  The 
doctor  approved  of  the  "  mask  of  butter,"  which  was  changed 
every  two  hours. 

Dear  Baron  Larrey !  I  often  saw  him  afterwards,  and  now 
and  again  we  shall  meet  him  in  the  pages  of  my  ]\Iemoirs.  He 
used  to  tell  me  in  such  charming  fashion  how  those  kind  folk 
loved  Milk  Blossom.     And  he  could  never  refrain  from  laughing 

2 


MY    AUNTS 

at  the  thought  of  that  butter.  There  was  butter  everywhere,  he 
used  to  say :  on  the  bedsteads,  on  the  cupboards,  on  the  chairs, 
on  the  tables,  hanging  up  on  nails  in  bladders.  All  the  neigh- 
bors used  to  bring  butter  to  make  masks  for  Milk  Blossom. 

Mother,  admirably  beautiful,  looked  like  a  Madonna,  with 
her  golden  hair  and  her  eyes  fringed  with  such  long  lashes  that 
they  made  a  shadow  on  her  cheeks  when  she  lowered  her  eyes. 
She  distributed  money  on  all  sides.  She  would  have  given  her 
golden  hair,  her  slender  white  fingers,  her  tiny  feet,  her  life 
itself,  in  order  to  save  her  child.  And  she  was  as  sincere  in  her 
despair  and  her  love  as  in  her  unconscious  forgetfulness.  Baron 
Larrey  returned  to  Paris,  leaving  my  mother.  Aunt  Rosine,  and 
the  surgeon  with  me.  Forty-two  days  later,  mother  took  the 
nurse,  the  foster  father,  and  me  back  in  triumph  to  Paris,  and 
installed  us  in  a  little  house  at  Neuilly,  on  the  banks  of  the 
Seine.  I  had  not  even  a  scar,  it  appears.  My  skin  was  rather 
too  bright  a  pink,  but  that  was  all.  My  mother,  happy  and 
trustful  once  more,  began  to  travel  again,  leaving  me  in  care  of 
my  aunts. 

Two  years  were  spent  in  the  little  garden  at  Neuilly,  which 
was  full  of  horrible  dahlias  growing  close  together  and  colored 
like  wooden  balls.  My  aunts  never  came  there.  My  mother 
used  to  send  money,  bonbons,  and  toys.  The  foster  father  died 
and  my  nurse  married  a  concierge,  who  used  to  open  the  door 
at  65,  rue  de  Provence. 

Not  knowing  where  to  find  my  mother,  and  not  being  able  to 
write,  my  nurse,  without  telling  any  of  my  friends,  took  me  with 
her  to  her  new  abode. 

The  change  delighted  me.  I  was  five  years  old  at  the  time, 
and  I  remember  the  day  as  if  it  were  yesterday.  My  nurse's 
abode  was  just  over  the  doorway  of  the  house,  and  the  window 
was  framed  in  the  heavy  and  monumental  door.  From  outside, 
I  thought  it  was  beautiful,  and  I  began  to  clap  my  hands  on 
reaching  the  house.  It  was  toward  five  o  'clock  in  the  evening,  in 
the  month  of  November,  when  everything  looks  gray.  I  was  put 
to  bed  and  no  doubt  I  went  to  sleep  at  once,  for  there  end  my 
recollections  of  that  day. 

3 


MEMORIES    OF    MV    LIFE 

Tilt'  iH'xt  iiioniiii;^'  tlicrc  was  tfi-rihlc  trv'n'\'  iti  store  for  ine. 
'riicrc  was  IK)  window  in  the  little  room  in  wliidi  I  slept,  and 
J  befj^an  to  cvy,  and  escaped  from  the  arms  of  my  nurse,  who  was 
dirssini;  me,  so  that  1  could  ^o  into  the  adjoining  room.  1  ran 
to  the  round  window,  which  was  an  innnense  "  bull's  eye  " 
above  the  dooi'way.  I  pressed  my  stubborn  brow  a<;ainst  the 
glass  and  began  to  scream  with  rage  on  seeing  no  trees,  no  box- 
wood, no  leaves  falling,  nothing,  nothing,  but  stone,  cold,  gray, 
ugly  stone,  and  panes  of  glass  opposite  me. 

"  I  want  to  go  away,"  I  screamed.  ''  I  don't  Avant  to  stay 
here !  It  is  all  black,  Mack !  It  is  ugly !  I  \vant  to  see  the 
ceiling  of  the  street!  "  and  I  burst  into  tears.  .My  poor  nurse 
took  me  up  in  her  arms  and,  folding  me  in  a  rug,  took  me  down 
into  the  courtyard. 

"  Lift  up  your  head,  Milk  Blossom,  and  look!  See,  there  is 
the  ceiling  of  the  street!  " 

It  comforted  me  somewhat  to  see  that  there  was  some  sky  in 
this  ugly  place,  but  my  little  soul  was  very  sad.  I  could  not  eat, 
and  I  grew  pale  and  became  ana'mic,  and  I  should  certainly  have 
died  of  consumption  if  it  had  not  been  for  a  mere  chance,  a  most 
unexpected  incident.  One  day  I  was  playing  in  the  courtyard 
with  a  little  girl  named  Titine,  who  lived  on  the  second  floor  and 
whose  face  or  real  name  I  cannot  recall,  when  I  saw  my  nurse's 
husband  walking  across  the  courtyard  with  two  ladies,  one  of 
whom  was  most  fashionably  attired.  I  could  only  see  their 
backs,  but  the  voice  of  the  fashionably  attired  lady  caused  my 
heart  to  stop  beating.  My  poor  little  body  trembled  with  ner- 
vous excitement. 

"  Do  any  of  the  windows  look  on  to  the  courtyard?  "  she 
asked. 

"  Yes,  madame,  those  four,"  he  replied,  pointing  to  four 
open  ones  on  the  first  floor. 

The  lady  turned  to  look  at  them,  and  I  uttered  a  cry  of  joy. 

"  Aunt  Rosine!  Aunt  Rosine!  "  I  exclaimed,  clinging  to 
the  skirts  of  the  pretty  visitor.  I  buried  my  face  in  her  furs, 
.stamping,  sobbing,  laughing,  and  tearing  her  wide,  laee  sleeves 
in  my  frenzy  of  delight.     She  took  me  in  her  arms  and  tried  to 

4 


MY    AUNTS 

calm  me,  and  questioning  the  concierge  she  stammered  out  to  her 
'friend : 

*'  I  can't  understand  what  it  all  means!  This  is  little  Sarah! 
My  sister  Youle's  child!  " 

The  noise  I  made  had  attracted  attention,  and  people  opened 
their  windows.  My  aunt  decided  to  take  refuge  in  the  con- 
cierge's lodge,  in  order  to  come  to  an  explanation.  My  poor 
nurse  told  her  about  all  that  had  taken  place,  her  husband's 
death,  and  her  second  marriage.  I  do  not  remember  what  she 
said  to  excuse  herself.  I  clung  to  my  aunt,  who  was  deliciously 
perfumed,  and  I  would  not  let  her  go.  She  promised  to  come 
the  following  day  to  fetch  me,  but  I  did  not  want  to  stay  any 
longer  in  that  dark  place.  I  asked  to  start  at  once  with  my 
nurse.  My  aunt  stroked  my  hair  gently,  and  spoke  to  her  friend 
in  a  language  I  did  not  understand.  She  tried,  in  vain,  to  ex- 
plain something  to  me,  I  do  not  know  what  it  was,  but  I  insisted 
that  I  wanted  to  go  away  with  her  at  once.  In  a  gentle,  tender, 
caressing  voice,  but  without  any  real  affection,  she  said  all  kinds 
of  pretty  things,  stroked  me  with  her  gloved  hands,  patted  my 
frock,  which  was  turned  up,  and  made  any  amount  of  charming, 
frivolous  little  gestures,  but  all  without  any  real  feeling.  She 
then  went  away,  at  her  friend's  entreaty,  after  emptying  her 
purse  in  my  nurse's  hands.  I  rushed  toward  the  door,  but  the 
husband  of  my  nurse,  who  had  opened  it  for  her,  now  closed  it 
again.  My  nurse  was  crying,  and,  taking  me  in  her  arms,  she 
opened  the  window,  saying  to  me:  "  Don't  cry,  ]\Iilk  Blossom, 
look  at  your  pretty  aunt;  she  will  come  back  again,  and  then 
you  can  go  away  with  her."  Great  tears  rolled  down  her  calm, 
round,  handsome  face.  I  could  see  nothing  but  the  dark,  black 
hole  which  remained  there  immutable  behind  me,  and  in  a  fit  of 
despair,  I  rushed  out  to  my  aunt  who  was  just  getting  into  a 
carriage.  After  that  I  knew  nothing  more;  everything  seemed 
dark;  there  was  a  noise  in  the  distance.  I  could  hear  voices 
far,  far  away.  I  had  managed  to  escape  from  my  poor  nurse, 
and  had  fallen  down  on  the  pavement  in  front  of  my  aunt.  I 
had  broken  my  arm  in  two  places,  and  injured  my  left  knee- 
cap.   I  only  came  to  myself  again  a  few  hours  later,  to  find  that 

5 


MEMORIES    OF    MV    LIFE 

I  was  in  a  beautiful,  wide  bed  whieh  smelled  very  nice.  It  stood 
in  the  middle  of  a  large  room,  with  two  lovely  windows,  which 
made  me  very  joyful,  for  I  could  see  the  ceiling  of  the  street 
through  them. 

^ly  mother,  who  had  been  sent  for  immediately,  came  to  take 
care  of  me,  and  I  saw  the  rest  of  my  family,  my  aunts  and  my 
cousins.  ]\Iy  poor  little  brain  could  not  understand  why  all 
these  people  should  suddenly  be  so  fond  of  me,  when  I  had 
passed  so  many  days  and  nights  only  cared  for  by  one  single 
person.  As  I  was  weakly,  and  my  bones  small  and  friable,  I  was 
two  years  recovering  from  this  terrible  fall,  and  during  that 
time  was  nearly  always  carried  about.  I  will  pass  over  these 
two  years  of  my  life,  which  have  left  me  only  a  vague  memory 
of  being  petted,  and  of  a  chronic  state  of  torpor. 

One  day  my  mother  took  me  on  her  knees,  and  said  to  me : 
"  You  are  a  big  girl  now,  and  you  mast  learn  to  read  and 
write."  I  was  then  seven  years  old,  and  could  neither  read, 
write,  nor  count,  as  I  had  been  five  years  with  the  old  nurse, 
and  two  years  ill.  "  You  must  go  to  school.*'  continued  my 
mother,  plajnng  with  my  curly  hair,  "  like  a  big  girl." 

I  did  not  know  what  all  this  meant,  and  I  asked  what  a 
school  was. 

"  It's  a  place  where  there  are  many  little  girls,"  replied  my 
mother. 

"  Are  they  ill?  "  I  asked. 

"  Oh.  no!  They  are  quite  well,  as  you  are  now,  and  they 
play  together,  and  are  very  gay  and  happy." 

I  jumped  about  in  delight,  and  gave  free  vent  to  my  joy, 
but  on  seeing  tears  in  my  mother's  eyes,  I  flung  mj-self  in  her 
arms. 

"  But  what  about  you,  mamma?  "  I  asked.  **  You  will  be 
all  alone,  and  you  won't  have  any  little  girl." 

She  bent  down  to  me  and  said : 

"  God  has  told  me  that  he  will  send  me  some  flowers,  and  a 
little  baby." 

]My  delight  was  more  and  more  boisterous. 

' '  Then  I  shall  have  a  little  brother  ?  "  I  exclaimed.  ' '  or  else 

6 


MY    AUNTS 

a  little  sister?     Oh,  no,  I  don't  want  that,  I  don't  like  little 
sisters!  " 

Mamma  kissed  me  very  affectionately,  and  then  I  was  dressed, 
I  remember,  in  a  blue,  corded  velvet  frock,  of  which  I  was 
very  proud.  Arrayed  thus  in  all  my  splendor,  I  waited  impa- 
tiently for  Aunt  Rosine's  carriage,  which  was  to  take  us  to 
Auteuil. 

It  was  about  three  when  she  arrived.  The  housemaid  had 
gone  on  about  an  hour  before,  and  I  had  watched  with  delight 
my  little  trunk  and  my  toys  being  packed  into  the  carriage.  The 
maid  climbed  up  and  took  the  seat  by  the  driver,  in  spite  of  my 
mother  protesting  at  first  against  this.  When  my  aunt's  mag- 
nificent equipage  arrived,  mamma  was  the  first  to  get  in,  slowly 
and  calmly.  I  got  in  slowly,  too,  giving  myself  airs,  because 
the  concierge  and  some  of  the  shopkeepers  were  watching.  My 
aunt  then  sprang  in  lightly,  but  by  no  means  calmly,  after  giv- 
ing her  orders  in  English  to  the  stiff,  ridiculous-looking  coach- 
man, and  handing  him  a  paper  on  which  the  address  was  writ- 
ten.   Another  carriage  followed  ours,  in  which  three  men  were 

seated:  Regie  L ,  a  friend  of  my  father's,  General  de  P 

and  an  artist  named  Fleury,  I  think,  whose  pictures  of  horses 
and  sporting  subjects  were  very  much  in  vogue  just  then. 

I  heard  on  the  way  that  these  gentlemen  were  going  to 
arrange  about  a  little  dinner  near  Auteuil,  to  console  mamma  for 
her  great  trouble  in  being  separated  from  me.  Some  other 
guests  were  to  be  there  to  meet  them.  I  did  not  pay  very  much 
attention  to  what  my  mother  and  my  aunt  said  to  each  other. 
Sometimes  when  they  spoke  of  me  they  talked  either  English  or 
German,  and  smiled  at  me  affectionately.  The  long  drive  was 
greatly  appreciated  by  me,  for  with  my  face  pressed  against  the 
window,  and  my  eyes  wide  open,  I  gazed  out  eagerly  at  the  gray, 
muddy  road,  with  its  ugly  houses  on  each  side,  and  its  bare 
trees.  I  thought  it  was  all  very  beautiful,  because  it  kept 
changing. 

The  carriage  stopped  at  18,  Rue  Boileau,  Auteuil.  On  the 
iron  gate  was  a  long,  dark  signboard,  with  gold  letters.  I  looked 
up  at  it,  and  mamma  said :  ' '  You  will  be  able  to  read  that  soon, 

7 


MKMOIIIES    OF    M\     LIFE 

1  liopo."  My  aunt  whispered  to  mo,  "  Boanlinf^  School,  Ma- 
dame Frcssard,"  and,  very  promptly,  I  said  to  nianiiua:  "  It 
says  '  Jinnrdinf;  School,  Madame  Frexsard.'  " 

Mamma,  my  aunt,  and  th(>  throe  t,'ontlomen  laughed  lioartily 
at  my  assurance,  and  we  entered  the  house.  Mme.  Fressard 
came  forward  to  meet  us,  and  I  liked  her  at  once.  She  was  of 
iiu'dium  hoi^'ht,  rather  stout,  with  a  small  waist,  and  hor  hair 
turning  gray,  en  Sevigne.  She  had  beautiful,  large  eyes,  rather 
like  George  Sand's,  very  white  teeth  which  showed  up  all  the 
more  as  her  complexion  wa.s  rather  tawny.  She  looked  healthy, 
spoke  kindly,  her  hands  were  plump  and  her  fingers  long.  She 
took  my  hand  gently  in  hers  and  half -kneeling  so  that  her  face 
was  level  with  mine,  she  said  in  a  musical  voice:  "  You  won't 
be  afraid  of  me,  will  you,  little  girl?  "  I  did  not  answer,  but 
my  face  flushed  as  red  as  a  coxcomb.  She  asked  me  several 
questions,  but  I  refused  to  reply.  They  all  gathered  round  me — 
"  Speak,  child — come,  Sarah,  be  a  good  girl — oh,  the  naughty 
little  child !  " 

It  was  all  in  vain.  I  remained  perfectly  mute.  The  cus- 
tomary round  was  then  made,  to  the  bedrooms,  the  dining-hall, 
the  class-rooms,  and  the  usual  exaggerated  compliments  were 
paid.  "  How  beautifully  it  is  all  kept!  How  spotlessly  clean 
everything  is!  "  and  a  hundred  stupidities  of  this  kind  about 
the  comfort  of  these  prisons  for  children.  My  mother  Avent  aside 
Avith  Mme.  Frassard,  and  I  clung  to  her  knees  so  that  she  could 
not  walk.  "  This  is  the  doctor's  prescription,"  she  said,  and 
then  followed  a  long  list  of  things  that  were  to  be  done  for  me. 

]\Ime.  Fressard  smiled  rather  ironically. 

*'  You  know,  madame,"  she  said  to  my  mother,  "  we  shall 
not  be  able  to  curl  her  hair  like  that." 

"  And  you  certainly  will  not  be  able  to  uncurl  it."  replied 
my  mother,  stroking  my  head  with  her  gloved  hands.  "  It's  a 
regular  wig,  and  they  must  never  attempt  to  comb  it  luitil  it 
has  been  well  brushed.  They  could  not  possibly  get  the  knots 
out  otherwise,  and  it  would  hurt  her-  too  much.  What  do  you 
give  the  children  at  four  o'clock?  "  she  asked,  changing  the  sub- 
ject. 

8 


MY    AUNTS 

"  Oh,  a  slice  of  bread  and  just  what  the  parents  leave  for 
them." 

"  There  are  twelve  pots  of  different  kinds  of  jam,"  said  my 
mother,  "  but  she  must  have  jam  one  day  and  chocolate  another, 
as  she  has  not  a  good  appetite,  and  requires  change  of  food. 
I  have  brought  six  pounds  of  chocolate. ' '  Mme.  Fressard  smiled 
in  a  good-natured,  but  rather  ironical  way.  She  picked  up  a 
packet  of  the  chocolate,  and  looked  at  the  mark. 

''  Ah !  from  Marquis !  What  a  spoiled  little  girl  it  is !  "  She 
patted  my  cheek  with  her  white  fingers,  and  then,  as  her  eyes  fell 
on  a  large  jar,  she  looked  surprised. 

"  That's  cold  cream,"  said  my  mother.  "  I  make  it  my- 
self, and  I  should  like  my  little  girl's  face  and  hands  to  be 
rubbed  with  it  every  night  when  she  goes  to  bed." 

"  But "  began  Mme.  Fressard. 

"  Oh,  I'll  pay  double  laundry  expenses  for  the  sheets,"  in- 
terrupted my  mother,  impatiently.  Ah,  my  poor  mother,  I  re- 
member quite  Avell  that  my  sheets  were  changed  once  a  month, 
like  those  of  the  other  pupils! 

The  farewell  moment  came  at  last,  and  everyone  gathered 
round  mamma,  and  finally  carried  her  oft',  after  a  great  deal  of 
kissing,  and  with  all  kinds  of  consoling  words:  "  It  will  be  so 
good  for  her — it  is  just  what  she  needs — you'll  find  her  quite 
changed  when  you  see  her  again,  etc." 

The  General,  who  was  very  fond  of  me,  picked  me  up  in  his 
arms  and  tossed  me  in  the  air. 

"  You  little  chit,"  he  said ;  "  they  are  putting  you  to  the  bar- 
racks, and  you  '11  have  to  mind  your  pace !  ' ' 

I  pulled  his  long  mustache,  and  he  said,  winking,  and  looking 
in  the  direction  of  Mme.  Fressard,  who  had  a  slight  mustache: 
'*  You  mustn't  do  that  to  a  lady,  you  know!  " 

My  aunt  laughed  heartily,  and  my  mother  gave  a  little 
stifled  laugh,  and  the  whole  troop  went  off  in  a  regular  whirl- 
wind of  rustling  skirts  and  farewells,  while  I  was  taken  away 
to  the  cage  where  I  was  to  be  imprisoned. 

I  spent  two  years  at  the  pension.  I  was  taught  reading,  writ- 
ing, and  reckoning.     I  also  learned  a  hundred  new  games.     I 

9 


MKMOKIES    OF    M\     I.I  IK 

Iciifiicd  t<i  siii^'  I'diidcfnis  iiiid  to  ciiihcoidcr  li;itidkorchiofs  for  my 
mot  tier.  I  was  relatively  hapi)y  11i<t<'.  as  \\c  always  went  out 
soiiu'wlici'o  on  Thursdays  and  SuTidays,  and  this  jrave  me  the  sen- 
sation of  lihei'ty.  The  very  jrround  in  the  street  seemed  to  mc 
f|uil('  didcrriit  I'l-oin  tlic  ^M'ound  of  llic  larfrc  <rardcn  belonginj^ 
to  the  ])r)isl(ni.  liesides,  there  wei-e  little  festivities  at  Mine. 
Fressard's  whieh  used  to  send  me  into  raptures.  Mile.  Stella 
Colas,  wlio  lijid  ,just  made  hei-  debut  at  tln'  Theatre  Franeais, 
came  sometimes  on  Thursdays  and  recited  poetry  to  us.  I  eould 
never  sleep  a  wink  the  ni<i:ht  before,  and  in  the  mornin*:  I  used 
to  comb  my  hair  carefully  and  pet  ready,  my  heart  beating  fast 
with  excitement,  in  order  to  listen  to  something  I  did  not  under- 
stand at  all,  but  Avhich,  nevertheless,  left  me  spellbound.  Then, 
too,  there  was  quite  a  legend  attached  to  this  pretty  girl.  She 
had  flung  herself  almost  under  the  horses'  feet  as  the  Fimperor 
was  driving  along,  in  order  to  attract  his  attention  and  obtain 
the  pardon  of  her  brother  who  had  conspired  against  his  sove- 
reign. 

Mile.  Stella  Colas  had  a  sister  at  Mme.  Fressard's,  and  this 
sister,  Clothilde,  is  now  the  wife  of  M.  Pierre  Merlon,  Under- 
Secretary  of  State  in  the  Treasury  Department.  Stella  was 
slight  and  fair,  with  blue  eyes  that  were  rather  hard,  but  ex- 
pressive. She  had  a  deep,  voice  and  when  this  pale,  fragile  girl 
began  to  recite  "  Athalie's  Dream  "  it  thrilled  me  through  and 
through.  How  many  times,  seated  on  my  child 's  bed,  did  I  prac- 
tice saying  in  a  low  voice:  "  TremWc,  fiUc  diqnc  de  mni.^^  I 
used  to  twist  my  head  in  my  shouldere,  swell  out  my  cheeks  and 
commence : 

"  Tremhle — trcm-hlc — ircm-cm-cm — hJc " 

But  it  always  ended  badly  and  I  would  begin  again  very 
quietly  in  a  stifled  voice  and  then  nnconsciously  speak  louder, 
and  my  companions,  roused  by  the  noise,  were  amused  at  my 
attempts  and  roared  with  laughter.  T  would  then  rush  about  to 
the  right  and  left,  giving  them  hicks  and  blows  which  the.v 
returned  with  interest. 

Mme.  Fressard's  adopted  daughter,  IMlle.  Caroline — whom  I 
chanced  to  meet  a  long  time  after,  married  to  the  celebrated 

10 


MY    AUNTS 

artist,  Yvon — would  then  appear  on  the  scene,  angry  and  im- 
placable, and  would  give  us  all  kinds  of  punishments  for  the 
following  day.  As  for  me,  I  used  to  get  locked  up  for  three 
days.  That  was  followed  by  my  being  detained  on  the  first  day 
we  were  allowed  out.  And,  in  addition,  I  would  receive  five 
strokes  with  a  ruler  on  my  fingers.  Ah !  those  ruler  blows  of 
Mile.  Caroline's!  I  reproached  her  about  them  when  I  met  her 
again  twenty-five  years  later.  She  used  to  make  as  put  all  our 
fingers  round  the  thumb  and  hold  our  hands  out  straight  near 
to  her  and  then,  bang  came  her  wide,  ebony  ruler.  She  used  to 
give  us  a  cruelly  hard,  dry  blow  which  made  the  tears  spurt  to 
our  eyes.  I  took  a  dislike  to  Mile.  Caroline.  She  was  beauti- 
ful, but  with  the  kind  of  beauty  I  did  not  care  for.  She  had 
a  very  white  complexion  and  very  black  hair  which  she  wore 
in  waved  bandeaux.  When  I  saw  her  a  long  time  afterwards, 
one  of  my  relatives  brought  her  to  my  house  and  said:  "  I  am 
sure  you  will  not  recognize  this  lady  and  yet  you  know  her 
very  well." 

,  I  was  leaning  against  the  large  mantelpiece  in  the  hall  and 
I  saw  this  tall  woman,  still  beautiful,  but  rather  provincial- 
looking,  coming  through  the  first  drawing-room.  As  she  de- 
scended the  three  steps  into  the  hall,  the  light  fell  on  her  pro- 
truding forehead,  framed  on  each  side  with  the  hard,  waved 
bandeaux. 

"  Mile.  Caroline!  "  I  exclaimed,  and  with  a  furtive,  childish 
movement,  I  hid  my  two  hands  behind  my  back.  I  never  saw 
her  again,  for  the  grudge  I  had  owed  her  from  my  childhood 
must  have  been  apparent  under  my  politeness  as  hostess. 

As  I  said  before,  I  was  not  unhappy  at  Mme.  Fressard's,  and 
it  seemed  quite  natural  to  me  that  I  should  stay  there  until  I 
was  quite  grown  up.  My  uncle,  Felix  Faure,  who  at  present 
has  entered  the  Carthusian  monastery,  had  stipulated  that  his 
wife,  my  mother's  sister,  should  often  take  me  out.  He  had  a 
very  fine  country  place  at  Neuilly  with  a  stream  running 
through  the  grounds,  and  I  used  to  fish  there  for  hours  together, 
with  my  two  cousins,  a  boj^  and  girl. 

These  two  years  of  my  life  passed  peacefully,  without  any 

11 


MKMOKIKS    Ol'    M\     LIFE 

otIuM-  events  than  my  tenihlr  (its  of  1eni[)er,  wliieli  upset  the 
Avhole  })<)isi<))i  and  always  h'lt  iiie  iti  the  sick-room  for  two  or 
three  days.  The«e  outbursts  of  temper  were  like  attacks  of  ma<l- 
ness. 

One  day  Aunt  Rosine  arrived  suddenly,  to  take  me  away 
alto^'ether.  My  fath(>r  had  written  {x'wm^  orders  as  to  where  I 
was  to  be  i)laced,  and  these  orders  were  imperative;.  My  mother 
was  traveling,  so  she  had  sent  word  to  my  aunt,  who  had  hurriefl 
otf  at  once,  between  two  dances,  to  carry  out  the  in.structions  she 
had  received. 

The  idea  that  I  was  to  be  ordered  about,  without  any  regard 
to  my  own  wishes  or  inclinations,  put  me  into  an  indescribable 
rage,  I  rolled  about  on  the  ground,  uttering  the  most  heart- 
rending cries.  I  yelled  out  all  kinds  of  reproaches,  blaming  my 
mother,  my  aunts,  and  Mme.  Fressard  for  not  finding  some  way 
to  keep  me  with  her.  The  struggle  lasted  two  hours,  and,  while 
I  was  being  dressed,  I  escaped  twice  into  the  garden  and  at- 
tempted to  climb  the  trees,  and  to  throw  myself  into  the  pond, 
in  which  there  was  more  mud  than  water. 

Finally,  when  I  was  completely  exhausted  and  subdued,  I 
was  taken  off,  sobbing,  in  my  aunt's  carriage. 

I  stayed  three  days  at  her  house,  as  I  was  so  feverish  that  my 
life  was  said  to  be  in  danger. 

My  father  used  to  come  to  the  house  of  my  Aunt  "Rosine,  who 
was  then  living  at  6  Rue  de  la  Chaussee  d'Antin.  lie  was  on 
friendly  terms  with  Rossini,  who  lived  at  No.  4  in  the  same 
street.  He  often  brought  him  in,  and  Rossini  made  me  laugh 
with  his  clever  stories  and  comic  grimaces.  ]\Iy  father  was  as 
"  handsome  as  a  god,"  and  I  used  to  look  at  him  with  pride. 
I  did  not  know  him  well,  as  I  saw  him  so  rarely,  but  I  loved  him 
for  his  seductive  voice  and  his  slow,  gentle  gestures.  He  com- 
manded a  certain  respect  and  I  noticed  that  even  my  exuberant 
aunt  calmed  down  in  his  presence. 

I  recovered,  and  Dr.  Monod,  who  was  attending  me.  said  that 
I  could  now  be  moved  without  any  fear  of  ill  effects.  We  had 
been  waiting  for  my  mother,  hut  she  was  ill  at  Haarlem.  ]\ry 
aunt  offered  to  accompany  us  if  my  father  would  take  me  to  the 

12 


MY    AUNTS 

convent,  but  he  refused,  and  I  can  hear  him  now  with  his  gentle 
voice,  saying: 

"  No,  her  mother  will  take  her  to  the  convent.  I  have  writ- 
ten to  the  Faures  and  the  child  is  to  stay  there  a  fortnight. ' ' 

My  aunt  was  about  to  protest,  but  my  father  replied:  "  It's 
quieter  there,  my  dear  Rosine,  and  the  child  needs  tranquillity 
more  than  anything  else." 

I  went  that  very  evening  to  my  Aunt  Faure  's.  I  did  not  care 
much  for  her,  as  she  was  cold  and  affected,  but  I  adored  my 
uncle.  He  was  so  gentle  and  so  calm,  and  there  was  an  infinite 
charm  in  his  smile.  His  son  was  as  turbulent  as  I  was  myself, 
adventurous  and  rather  hare-brained,  so  that  we  always  liked 
being  together.  His  sister,  an  adorable  Greuze-like  girl,  was  re- 
served and  always  afraid  of  soiling  her  frocks,  and  even  her 
pinafores.  The  poor  child  married  Baron  Cerise  and  died  dur- 
ing her  confinement,  in  the  very  flower  of  youth  and  beauty,  be- 
cause her  timidity,  her  reserve  and  narrow  education  had  made 
her  refuse  to  see  a  doctor  when  the  intervention  of  a  medical 
man  was  absolutely  necessary.  I  was  very  fond  of  her,  and 
her  death  was  a  great  grief  to  me.  At  present,  I  never  see 
the  faintest  ray  of  moonlight  without  its  evoking  a  pale  vision 
of  her. 

I  stayed  three  weeks  at  my  uncle's,  roaming  about  with  my 
cousin  and  spending  hours  lying  down  flat,  fishing  for  crayfish 
in  the  little  stream  that  ran  through  the  park.  This  park  was 
immense  and  surrounded  by  a  wide  ditch.  How  many  times  I 
used  to  have  bets  with  my  cousins  that  I  would  jump  that  ditch ! 
The  bet  was  sometimes  three  sheets  of  paper,  or  five  pins,  or  per- 
liaps  my  two  pancakes,  for  we  used  to  have  pancakes  every  Tues- 
day. And  after  the  bet  I  jumped,  more  often  than  not  falling 
into  the  ditch  and  splashing  about  in  the  green  water,  screaming 
because  I  was  afraid  of  the  frogs,  and  yelling  with  terror  when 
my  cousins  pretended  to  rush  away. 

When  I  returned  to  the  house  my  aunt  was  always  watching 
anxiously  at  the  top  of  the  stone  steps  for  our  arrival.  What  a 
lecture  I  had  and  what  a  cold  look ! 

"  Go  upstairs  and  change  your  clothes,  mademoiselle,"  she 

13 


MEMORIES    OF    MY    LIFE 

woukl  s;iy,  "  and  Ihcii  stay  in  your  room.     Your  diuncr  will  be 
seut  to  you  llicrc  witliout  any  dessert." 

As  I  passed  tlie  big  j^lass  in  tlie  hall  I  would  catch  sight  (jf 
myself,  looking  like  a  rotten  tree  stump,  and  see  my  cousin  mak- 
ing signs  that  he  would  bring  me  some  dessert,  by  j)utting  his 
hand  to  his  mouth. 

His  sister  used  to  go  to  his  mother  who  fondled  her  and 
seemed  to  say:  "  Thank  Heaven  you  are  not  like  that  little 
Bohemian!  "  This  was  my  aunt's  stinging  epithet  for  me  in 
moments  of  anger.  I  used  to  go  up  to  my  room  with  a  heavy 
heart,  thoroughly  ashamed  and  vexed,  vowing  to  myself  that  I 
would  never  again  jump  the  ditch,  but  on  reaching  my  room  I 
would  find  the  gardener's  daughter  there — a  big,  awkward, 
merry  girl  who  used  to  wait  on  me. 

"  Oh,  how  comic  mademoiselle  looks  like  that!  "  she  would 
say,  laughing  so  heartily  that  I  was  proud  of  looking  comic  and 
decided  that  when  I  jumped  the  ditch  again  I  would  get  weeds 
and  mud  all  over  me.  When  I  had  undressed  and  washed  I  used 
to  put  on  a  flannel  gown  and  wait  in  my  room  until  my  dinner 
came.  Soup  was  sent  up  and  then  meat,  bread,  and  water,  I  de- 
tested meat  then,  just  as  I  do  now,  and  threw  it  out  of  the  win- 
dow, after  cutting  ofi'  the  fat,  which  I  put  on  the  rim  of  my  plate, 
as  my  aunt  used  to  come  up  unexpectedly. 

"  Have  you  eaten  your  dinner,  mademoiselle?  "  she  would 
ask. 

"  Yes,  aunt,"  I  replied. 

"  Are  you  still  hungry?  " 

"  No,  aunt." 

"  Write  out  '  Our  Father  '  and  the  '  Creed  '  three  times, 
you  little  heathen."  This  was  because  I  had  not  been  bap- 
tized. A  quarter  of  an  hour  later  my  uncle  would  come 
upstairs. 

'  *  Have  you  had  enough  dinner  ?  "  he  would  ask. 

"  Yes,  uncle,"  I  replied. 

* '  Did  you  eat  your  meat  ?  ' ' 

"  No,  I  threw  it  out  of  the  window.     I  don't  like  meat." 

"  You  told  your  aunt  an  untruth,  then." 

14 


MY    AUNTS 

' '  No,  she  asked  me  if  I  had  eaten  my  dinner  and  I  answered 
that  I  had,  but  I  did  not  say  that  I  had  eaten  my  meat. ' ' 

"  What  punishment  has  she  given  you?  " 

"  I  am  to  write  out  '  Our  Father  '  and  the  '  Creed  '  three 
times  before  going  to  bed." 

' '  Do  you  know  them  by  heart  ?  ' ' 

"  No,  not  very  well.     I  make  mistakes  always." 

And  the  adorable  man  would  then  dictate  to  me  "  Our 
Father  ' '  and  the  ' '  Creed  ' '  and  I  would  copy  it  in  the  most  de- 
vout way,  as  he  used  to  dictate  with  deep  feeling  and  emotion. 
He  was  religious,  very  religious  indeed,  this  uncle  of  mine,  and 
after  the  death  of  my  aunt  he  became  a  Carthusian  monk.  At 
the  present  moment,  ill  and  aged  as  he  is,  and  bent  with  pain,  I 
know  he  is  digging  his  own  grave,  weak  with  the  w^eight  of  the 
spade,  imploring  God  to  take  him,  and  thinking  sometimes  of 
me,  his  little  Bohemian.  Ah,  the  dear,  good  man,  it  is  to  him 
that  I  owe  all  that  is  best  in  me!  I  love  him  devotedly  and 
have  the  greatest  respect  for  him.  How  many  times  in  the 
difficult  phases  of  my  life  I  have  thought  of  him  and  consulted 
his  ideas,  for  I  never  saw  him  again,  as  my  aunt  quarreled  pur- 
posely with  my  mother  and  me.  He  was  always  fond  of  me, 
though,  and  has  told  his  friends  to  assure  me  of  this.  Occasion- 
ally, too,  he  has  sent  me  his  advice,  which  has  always  been  very 
straightforward  and  full  of  intelligence  and  common  sense. 
Recently  I  went  to  the  country  where  the  Carthusians  have 
taken  refuge.  A  friend  of  mine  went  to  see  my  uncle,  and 
I  wept  on  hearing  the  words  he  had  dictated  to  be  repeated 
to  me. 

To  return  to  my  story:  after  my  uncle's  visit,  Marie,  the 
gardener's  daughter,  came  to  my  room,  looking  quite  indifferent 
but  with  her  pockets  stuffed  with  apples,  biscuits,  raisins,  and 
nuts.  My  cousin  had  sent  me  some  dessert,  but  she,  the  good- 
hearted  girl,  had  cleared  all  the  dessert  dishes.  I  told  her  to 
sit  down  and  crack  the  nuts  and  I  would  eat  them  when  I  had 
finished  my  "  Lord's  Prayer  "  and  "  Creed."  She  sat  down  on 
the  floor,  so  that  she  could  hide  everything  quickly  under  the 
table,  in  case  my  aunt  returned.     But  my  aunt  seldom  came 

15 


MEMORIES    OF    M^^    LIFE 

again,  as  .sh«>  and  her  daughter  used  to  spend  their  evenings  at 
the  piano  while  my  uncle  taught  his  son  mathematics. 

Finally  my  mother  wrote  to  say  that  she  was  coming.  There 
was  great  excitement  in  my  uncle's  house,  and  my  little  trunk 
was  packed  in  readiness.  The  Grandchamps  Convent,  which  I 
was  about  to  enter,  had  a  prescribed  uniform,  and  my  cousin, 
who  loved  sewing,  marked  all  my  things  with  the  initials  S.  B.  in 
red  cotton.  My  uncle  gave  me  a  silver  spoon,  fork,  and  goblet 
and  these  were  all  marked  32,  which  was  the  number  under  which 
I  was  registered  there.  Marie  gave  me  a  thick  woolen  muffler  in 
different  shades  of  violet,  w^hich  she  had  been  knitting  for  me 
in  secret  the  last  few  days.  My  aunt  put  round  my  neck  a 
little  scapulary  w^hich  had  been  blessed,  and  when  my  mother  and 
father  arrived  everything  was  ready.  A  farewell  dinner  was 
given  to  which  two  of  my  mother's  friends.  Aunt  Rosine,  and 
four  other  members  of  the  family  were  invited. 

I  felt  very  important.  I  was  neither  sad  nor  gay,  but  had 
just  this  feeling  of  importance  which  was  quite  enough  for  me. 
Everyone  at  table  talked  about  me.  My  uncle  kept  stroking 
2ny  hair  and  my  cousin  from  her  end  of  the  table  threw  me 
kisses.  Suddenly  my  father's  musical  voice  made  me  turn 
toward  him. 

"  Listen  to  me,  Sarah,"  he  said;  "  if  you  are  very  good  at 
the  convent  I  will  come  in  four  years  and  fetch  you  away,  and 
you  shall  travel  with  me  and  see  some  beautiful  countries.  " 

' '  Oh,  I  wall  be  good !  "  I  exclaimed.  "  I  '11  be  as  good  as 
Aunt  Henriette!  " 

This  was  my  Aunt  Faure.     Everybody  smiled. 

After  dinner,  the  weather  being  very  fine,  we  all  went  out 
to  stroll  in  the  park.  JNIy  father  took  me  with  him  and  talked 
to  me  very  seriously.  He  told  me  things  that  were  sad  which  I 
had  never  heard  before.  I  undei-stood,  although  I  was  so  young, 
and  my  eyes  filled  with  tears.  He  was  sitting  on  an  old  bench 
and  I  was  on  his  knee  with  my  head  resting  on  his  shoulder. 
I  listened  to  all  he  said  and  cried  silently,  my  childish  mind 
disturbed  by  his  words.  Poor  father!  I  was  never,  never  to 
see  him  again. 

16 


CHAPTER  II 


I    BEGIN    MY    CONVENT    LIFE 


DID  not  sleep  well  that  night  and  the  following 
morning-,  at  eight  o'clock,  we  started  by  diligence 
for  Versailles,  I  can  see  Marie  now,  in  tears,  great 
big  girl  as  she  was.  All  the  members  of  the  family 
were  assembled  at  the  top  of  the  stone  steps.  There  was  my 
little  trunk  and  then  a  wooden  case  of  games  which  my  mother 
had  brought,  and  a  kite  that  my  cousin  had  made,  which  he  gave 
me  at  the  last  moment  just  as  the  carriage  was  starting.  I  can 
still  see  the  large  white  house,  which  seemed  to  get  smaller  and 
smaller  the  farther  we  drove  away  from  it.  I  stood  up,  with 
my  father  holding  me  and  waved  his  blue  silk  muffler  which  I 
had  taken  from  his  neck.  After  this  I  sat  down  in  the  carriage 
and  fell  asleep,  only  rousing  up  again  when  we  were  at  the 
heavy-looking  door  of  the  Grandchamps  Convent.  I  rubbed  my 
eyes  and  tried  to  collect  my  thoughts.  I  then  jumped  down 
from  the  diligence  and  looked  at  everything  around  me.  The 
paving  stones  of  the  street  were  round  and  small,  with  grass 
growing  everywhere.  There  was  a  wall  and  then  a  great  gate- 
way surmounted  by  a  cross,  and  nothing  behind  it,  nothing 
whatever  to  be  seen.  To  the  left  there  was  a  house  and  to  the 
right  the  Sartory  barracks.  Not  a  sound  to  be  heard,  not  a 
footfall,  not  even  an  echo. 

"  Oh,   mamma!  "    I   exclaimed,   "is   it  inside   there   I   am 
to  go  ?     Oh,  no,  I  would  rather  go  back  to  Mme.  Fressard  's. ' ' 

My  mother  shrugged  her  shoulders  and  pointed  to  my  father, 
thus  explaining  that  she  was  not  responsible  for  this  step.     I 
3  17 


MEMORIES    OF    MY    LIFE 

nislicd  1()  liim.  and  wiiilc  rin^'in^  the  bell,  lie  took  me  by  the 
baud.  The  door  opeiu'd,  and  tic  led  me  gently  in,  followed 
by  my  mother  and  Aunt  Rosine. 

The  courtyard  was  large  and  dreary-looking,  but  there 
were  buildings  to  be  seen,  and  windows  from  which  children's 
faces  were  gazing  curiously  at  us.  i\Iy  father  said  something  to 
the  nun  who  came  forward,  and  she  took  us  into  the  parlor.  This 
Avas  large,  with  a  polislicd  floor,  and  was  divided  by  an  enormous 
black  grating  which  ran  the  whole  length  of  the  room.  There 
were  benches  covered  with  red  velvet  by  the  wall  and  a  few 
chairs  and  armchairs  near  the  grating.  On  the  walls  were  the 
portraits  of  Pius  IX.,  a  full-length  one  of  St.  Augustine,  and 
one  of  Henri  V.  My  teeth  chattered,  for  it  seemed  to  me  that 
I  remembered  reading  in  some  book  the  description  of  a  prison 
and  that  it  was  just  like  this.  I  looked  at  my  father  and  at  my 
mother  and  began  to  distrust  them.  I  had  so  often  heard  that 
I  was  ungovernable,  that  I  needed  an  iron  hand  to  rule  me, 
and  that  I  was  the  devil  incarnate  in  a  child.  I\Iy  Aunt  Faure 
had  so  often  repeated :  ' '  That  child  will  come  to  a  bad  end,  she 
has  such  mad  ideas,  etc.,  etc." 

''  Papa,  papa,"  I  suddenly  cried  out,  seized  with  terror,  "  I 
won't  go  to  prison.  This  is  a  prison  I  am  sure.  I  am  fright- 
ened; oh,  I  am  so  frightened!  " 

On  the  other  side  of  the  grating  a  door  had  just  opened, 
and  I  stopped  to  see  who  was  coming.  A  little  round,  short 
woman  made  her  appearance  and  came  up  to  the  grating.  Her 
black  veil  was  lowered  as  far  as  her  mouth,  so  that  I  could  see 
scarcely  anything  of  her  face.  She  recognized  my  father,  whom 
she  had  probably  seen  before  when  matters  were  being  arranged. 
She  opened  the  door  in  the  grating  and  we  all  went  through  to 
the  other  side  of  the  room.  On  seeing  me  pale  and  my  ter- 
rified eyes  full  of  tears,  she  gently  took  my  hand  in  hers,  and 
turning  her  back  to  my  father  raised  her  veil.  I  then  saw  the 
sweetest  and  merriest  face  imaginable,  with  large,  childlike 
blue  eyes,  a  turn-up  nose,  a  laughing  mouth  with  full  lips  and 
beautiful,  strong,  white  teeth.  She  looked  so  kind,  so  ener- 
getic, and  so  gay  that  I  flung  myself  at  once  into  her  arms.     It 

18 


I    BEGIN    MY    CONVENT    LIFE 

was  Mother   Ste.    Sophie,   the    Superior   of   the    Grandchamps 
Convent. 

' '  Ah,  we  are  friends  now,  you  see ! "  she  said  to  my  father, 
lowering  her  veil  again.  What  secret  instinct  could  have  told 
this  woman,  who  was  not  coquettish,  who  had  no  looking-glass 
and  never  troubled  about  beauty,  that  her  face  was  fascinating 
and  that  her  bright  smile  could  enliven  the  gloom  of  the 
convent  ? 

*'  We  will  now  go  and  visit  the  house,"  she  said. 

We  at  once  started,  she  and  my  father  each  holding  one  of 
my  hands.  Two  other  nuns  accompanied  us,  one  of  whom  was 
the  mother-prefect,  a  tall,  cold  woman  with  thin  lips,  and  Sister 
Seraphine,  who  was  as  white  and  supple  as  a  spray  of  lily  of 
the  valley.  We  started  by  entering  the  building  and  came  first 
to  the  large  class-room  in  which  all  the  pupils  met  on  Thursdays 
at  the  lectures,  which  were  nearly  always  given  by  Mother 
Ste.  Sophie.  Most  of  them  did  needle-work  all  day  long,  tapes- 
try, embroidery,  etc.,  and  others  decalcomania. 

The  room  was  very  large  and  on  St.  Catherine's  Day  and 
other  holidays  we  used  to  dance  there.  It  was  in  this  room,  too, 
that  once  a  year  the  Mother  Superior  gave  to  each  of  the  Sisters 
the  sou  which  represented  her  annual  income.  The  walls  were 
adorned  with  religious  engravings  and  with  a  few  oil  paintings 
done  by  the  pupils.  The  place  of  honor,  though,  belonged  to 
St.  Augustine.  A  magnificent  large  engraving  depicted  the 
conversion  of  this  saint,  and,  oh,  how  often  I  have  looked  at  that 
engraving!  St.  Augustine  has  certainly  caused  me  very  much 
emotion  and  greatly  disturbed  my  childish  heart.  Mamma  ad- 
mired the  cleanliness  of  the  refectory.  She  asked  to  see  which 
would  be  my  seat  at  table,  and  when  this  was  shown  to  her  she 
objected  strongly  to  my  having  that  place. 

"No,"  she  said,  "the  child  has  not  a  strong  chest  and 
she  would  always  be  in  a  draught.  I  will  not  let  her  sit 
there. ' ' 

My  father  agreed  with  my  mother  and  insisted  on  a  change 
being  made.  It  was  therefore  decided  that  I  should  sit  at  the 
end  of  the  room,  and  the  promise  given  was  faithfully  kept. 

19 


MEMORIES    OF    MV     LIFE 

Wlini  iii;iiiiiii:i  saw  tlic  widr  staircase  leading,'  to  tlif  doi-iiii- 
torits  she  was  ap;liast.  It  was  very,  very  wide  and  the  steps 
were  low  and  easy  to  mount,  but  there  were  so  many  of  them 
Ijel'ore  one  I'eaelied  the  first  floor.  I''or  a  few  seconds  mamma 
hesitate<l  and  stood  liu're  f,'azinf,'  at  them,  hei-  arms  hanj^inf^  down 
ill  despair. 

"  Stay  (h)wn  liere,  Youh',"  said  my  aunt,  "  and  I  will  ^o  up." 

"  No,  no,"  replied  my  mother  in  a  sorrowful  voice.  "  I 
must  see  whei-e  the  child  is  to  sleep  ;  she  is  so  delicate." 

My  father  helped  her,  and  indeed  almost  carried  her  up, 
ami  we  then  went  into  one  of  the  immense  dormitories.  It  was 
very  much  like  the  dormitory  at  Mine.  Fressard's,  but  a  threat 
deal  larijer  and  there  was  a  tiled  floor  without  any  carpet. 

' '  Oh,  this  is  quite  impossible !  ' '  exclaimed  mamma,  ' '  the 
child  cannot  sleep  here;  it  is  too  cold;  it  would  kill  her." 

The  Mother  Superior,  Ste.  Sophie,  gave  my  mother  a  chair 
and  tried  to  soothe  her.  She  was  pale,  for  her  heart  was  already 
very  much  affected. 

"  ^Ye  will  put  your  little  irirl  in  this  dormitory,  madame," 
she  said,  opening  a  door  that  led  into  a  room  with  eight  beds. 
The  floor  was  of  polished  wood  and  this  room,  adjoining  the 
infirmary,  was  the  one  in  which  delicate  or  convalescent  children 
slept.  Mamma  was  reassured  on  seeing  this,  and  we  then  went 
down  and  inspected  the  grounds.  There  were  three  woods,  the 
Little  Wood,  the  Middle  Wood,  and  the  Big  Wood,  and  then 
there  was  an  orchard  that  stretched  along  as  far  as  the  eye  could 
see.  In  this  orchard  was  the  building  where  the  poor  children 
lived.  They  M'cre  taught  gratis  by  the  nuns,  and  every  week 
they  helped  with  the  laundry  for  the  convent. 

The  sight  of  these  immense  woods  with  swings,  hammocks, 
and  a  gymnasium  delighted  me,  for  I  thought  I  should  be  able 
to  roam  about  at  pleasure  there.  Mother  Ste.  Sophie  explained 
to  us  that  the  Little  AYood  was  reserved  for  the  older  pupils  and 
the  I\rid(lle  Wood  for  the  little  ones,  while  the  Big  AVood  was 
for  the  whole  convent  on  holidays.  Then  after  telling  us  about 
the  collecting  of  the  chestnuts  and  the  gathering  of  the  acacia. 
Mother  Ste.  Sojihie  informed  us  that  every  child  could  have 

20 


I    BEGIN    MY    CONVENT    LIFE 

a  small  garden  and  that  sometimes  two  or  three  of  them  had  a 
larger  one  between  them. 

' '  Oh,  can  I  have  a  garden  of  my  own !  "  I  exclaimed,  ' '  a 
garden  all  to  myself?  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  my  mother,  "  one  of  your  own." 

The  Mother  Superior  called  the  gardener,  Pere  Larcher,  the 
only  man,  Avith  the  exception  of  the  almoner,  who  was  on  the 
convent  staff. 

"  Pere  Larcher,"  said  the  kind  woman,  "  here  is  a  little  girl 
who  wants  a  beautiful  garden.     Find  a  nice  place  for  it." 

''  Very  good.  Reverend  Mother,"  ansAvered  the  honest  fel- 
low, and  I  saw  my  father  slip  a  coin  into  his  hand,  for  which 
the  man  thanked  him  in  an  embarrassed  way. 

It  was  getting  late  and  we  had  to  separate.  I  remember 
quite  well  that  I  did  not  feel  any  grief,  as  I  was  thinking  of 
nothing  but  my  garden.  The  convent  no  longer  seemed  to  me 
like  a  prison  but  like  Paradise.  I  kissed  my  mother  and  my 
aunt.  Papa  drew  me  to  him  and  held  me  a  moment  in  a  close 
embrace.  When  I  looked  at  him  I  saw  that  his  eyes  were  full 
of  tears.  I  did  not  feel  at  all  inclined  to  cry,  and  I  gave  him  a 
hearty  kiss  and  whispered:  "  I  am  going  to  be  very,  very 
good  and  work  well,  so  that  I  can  go  with  you  at  the  end  of  four 
years."  I  then  went  toward  my  mother,  who  was  giving 
Mother  Ste.  Sophie  the  same  instructions  she  had  given  to  Mme. 
Fressard  about  "  cold  cream,  chocolate,  jam,  etc."  Mother 
Ste.  Sophie  wrote  down  all  these  instructions,  and  it  is  only 
fair  to  say  that  she  carried  them  out  afterwards  most  scrupu- 
lously. 

When  my  parents  had  gone  I  felt  inclined  to  cry,  but  the 
Mother  Superior  took  me  by  the  hand,  and  leading  me  to  the 
Second  Wood,  showed  me  where  my  garden  would  be.  That 
was  quite  enough  to  distract  my  thoughts,  for  we  found  Pere 
Larcher  there  marking  out  my  piece  of  ground  in  a  comer  of  the 
wood.  There  was  a  young  birch  tree  against  the  wall.  The 
corner  was  formed  by  the  joining  of  two  walls,  one  of  which 
bounded  the  railway  line  of  the  left  bank  of  the  river  which  cuts 
the  Sartory  Woods  in  two.     The  other  wall  was  that  of  the 

21 


.MKMOHIKS    Ol'    MV     LIFK 

ctliirlriy.  All  tlir  WOods  ol'  lilt'  ('((IlVcilt  Were  pjirl  of  lh«'  beauti- 
ful Sartory   Forost. 

Tlicy  liiid  all  j^'ivcu  nic  money,  my  l;ithei-,  my  mother,  and 
my  aunt.  1  liad  alto<jothcr  about  forly  oi-  fifty  fraiies,  and  I 
wanted  to  ^nve  all  to  Pere  Larcher  for  buyiiif,'  seed.  The  Mother 
Sui>eri()r  smiled  and  sent  foi-  the  Mother  Treasurer  and  Mother 
Ste.  Appoline.  I  h;id  (o  h;ind  nil  my  money  over  to  the'  former, 
with  the  exception  of  twenty  sous  which  she  left  nie,  sayinj^: 
"  When  that  is  all  gone,  little  girl,  come  and  get  some  more 
from  me." 

Mere  Ste.  Appoline,  wlio  tauglit  botany,  then  ask(>d  me  what 
kind  of  flowers  I  wanted.  AVhat  kind  of  flowers!  Why  I 
wanted  every  sort  that  grew.  She  at  once  proceeded  to  give  me 
a  botany  lesson,  by  explaining  that  all  flowers  did  not  grow  at 
the  same  season.  She  then  asked  the  Mother  Treasurer  for  some 
of  my  money,  which  she  gave  to  Pere  Larcher,  telling  him  to 
buy  me  a  spade,  a  rake,  a  hoe,  and  a  watering-can,  some  seeds 
and  a  few  plants,  the  names  of  which  she  wrote  down  for  him. 
I  was  delighted,  and  I  then  went  with  Mother  Ste.  Sophie  to  the 
refectory  to  have  dinner.  On  entering  the  immense  room  I  stood 
still  for  a  second,  amazed  and  confused.  More  than  a  hundred 
girls  were  assembled  there,  standing  up  for  the  benediction  to  be 
pronounced.  When  the  Mother  Superior  appeared,  everyone 
bowed  respectfully,  and  then  all  eyes  were  turned  on  me. 
]\Iother  Ste.  Sophie  took  me  to  the  seat  which  had  been  chosen  for 
me  at  the  end  of  the  room  and  then  retnrned  to  the  middle  of  the 
refectory.  She  stood  still,  made  the  sign  of  the  cross,  and  in  an 
audible  voice  pronounced  the  benediction.  As  she  left  the  room, 
everyone  bowed  again  and  I  then  fonnd  myself  alone,  quite 
alone  in  this  cage  of  little  wild  animals.  I  was  seated  between 
two  little  girls  of  from  ten  to  twelve  years  old,  both  as  dusky  as 
two  young  moles.  They  were  twins  from  Jamaica,  and  their 
names  were  Dolores  and  Pepa  Cardanos.  They  had  been  in  the 
convent  only  two  months  and  appeared  to  be  as  timid  as  I  was. 
The  dinner  was  composed  of  soup,  made  of  everything,  and  of 
veal  with  haricot  beans.  I  detested  sonp  and  I  have  always  had 
a  horror  of  veal.     I  turned  my  plate  over  when  the  soup  was 

22 


I    BEGIN    MY    CONVENT    LIFE 

handed  round,  but  the  nun  who  waited  on  us  turned  it  up 
again  and  poured  the  hot  soup  in,  regardless  of  scalding  me. 

"  You  must  drink  your  soup,"  whispered  my  right-hand 
neighbor,  whose  name  was  Pepa. 

"  I  don't  like  that  sort  and  I  don't  want  any,"  I  said  aloud. 
The  inspectress  was  passing  by  just  at  that  moment. 

"  You  must  drink  your  soup,  mademoiselle,"  she  said. 

*'  No,  I  don't  like  that  sort  of  soup,"  I  answered. 

She  smiled  and  said  in  a  gentle  voice : 

"  We  must  like  everything.  I  shall  be  coming  round  again 
soon.     Be  a  good  girl  and  take  your  soup." 

I  was  getting  into  a  rage,  but  Dolores  gave  me  her  empty 
plate  and  drank  the  soup  for  me.  When  the  inspectress  came 
round  again  she  expressed  her  satisfaction.  I  was  furious  and 
put  my  tongue  out,  and  this  made  all  the  table  laugh.  She 
turned  round,  and  the  pupil  who  sat  at  the  end  of  the  table  and 
was  appointed  to  watch  over  us,  because  she  was  the  eldest,  said 
to  her  in  a  low  voice: 

"  It's  the  new  girl  making  grimaces." 

The  inspectress  moved  away  again,  and  when  the  veal  was 
served  my  portion  foimd  its  way  to  the  plate  of  my  neighbor, 
Dolores.  I  wanted  to  keep  the  haricot  beans  though,  and  we 
almost  came  to  a  quarrel  over  them.  She  gave  way  finally,  but 
with  the  veal  she  dragged  away  a  few  beans  which  I  tried  to 
keep  on  my  plate. 

An  hour  later  we  had  evening  prayers  and  afterwards  all  went 
up  to  bed.  My  bed  was  placed  against  the  wall,  in  which  there 
was  a  niche  for  the  statue  of  the  Virgin  Mary.  A  lamp  was 
always  kept  burning  in  this  niche,  and  the  oil  for  it  was  pro- 
vided by  the  children  who  had  been  ill  and  were  grateful  for 
their  recovery.  Two  tiny  flower-pots  were  placed  at  the  foot 
of  the  little  statue.  The  pots  were  of  terra  cotta  and  the  flowers 
of  paper.  I  made  paper  flowers  very  well,  and  I  at  once  decided 
that  I  would  make  all  the  flowers  for  the  Virgin  Mary.  I  fell 
asleep  to  dream  of  garlands  of  flowers,  of  haricot  beans,  and  of 
distant  countries,  for  the  twins  from  Jamaica  had  made  an 
impression  on  my  mind, 

23 


.Mi:.M()Uii:s  oi'  M\    Lii'i: 

'I'hc  jiwiikcniii^'  was  cruel.  I  was  not  accustomod  to  ^ct  up 
so  early.  Dayli^lit  was  scarcely  visible  through  the  opaque 
wintlow-panes.  I  ^'rumbled  as  I  dressed,  for  we  were  allowed 
only  a  quarter  of  an  hour  and  it  always  took  me  a  good  half 
hour  to  comb  my  hair.  Sister  Marie,  seeing;  that  I  was  not 
ready,  came  toward  me,  and  before  I  knew  what  she,'  was  goinj^ 
to  do,  snatched  the  comb  violently  out  of  my  hand. 

"  Come,  come,"  she  said,  "  you  must  not  dawdle  like  this." 
She  then  planted  the  comb  in  my  mop  of  hair  and  tore  out  a 
haudful  of  it.  Pain  and  anfjer  at  seeinpr  myself  treated  in  this 
way  threw  me  immediately  into  one  of  my  fits  of  rajre  which 
always  terrified  those  who  Avitnessed  them.  I  flung  myself  upon 
the  unfortunate  Sister  and  with  feet,  teeth,  hands,  elbows,  head 
and,  indeed,  all  my  poor  little  body  I  hit,  thumped,  and  at  the 
same  time  yelled.  All  the  pupils,  all  the  Sisters,  and  indeed 
everyone  came  running  to  see  what  was  the  matter.  The  Sisters 
made  the  sign  of  the  cross  but  did  not  venture  to  approach  me. 
The  IMother  Prefect  threw  some  holy  water  over  me  to  exorcise 
the  evil  spirit.  Finally  the  Mother  Superior  arrived  on  the 
scene.  My  father  had  told  her  of  my  fits  of  wild  fury,  which 
were  my  only  serious  fault,  and  my  state  of  health  was  quite  as 
much  responsible  for  them  as  the  violence  of  my  disposition. 
She  approached  me.  I  was  still  clutching  Sister  ^Nlarie,  but  was 
exhausted  by  this  struggle  with  the  poor  woman,  who  although 
tall  and  strong,  only  tried  to  ward  off  my  blows  without  retali- 
ating, endeavoring  to  hold  first  my  feet,  and  then  my  hands. 

I  looked  up  on  hearing  Mother  Ste.  Sophie's  voice.  My  eyes 
were  bathed  in  tears,  but  nevertheless  I  saw  such  an  expression  of 
pity  on  her  sweet  face  that  without  altogether  letting  go  I  ceased 
fighting  for  a  second,  and  trembling  and  ashamed,  said  very 
quickly : 

"  She  commenced  it,  she  snatched  the  comb  out  of  my  hand 
like  a  wicked  woman,  and  tore  out  my  hair.  She  was  rough  and 
hurt  me.  She  is  a  wicked,  wicked  woman."  I  then  burst  into 
sobs  and  my  hands  loosed  their  hold.  The  next  thing  I  knew 
was  that  I  found  myself  lying  on  my  little  bed  with  ^Mother  Ste. 
Sophie's  hand  on  my  forehead  and  her  kind,  deep  voice  lecturing 

24 


I    BEGIN    MY    CONVENT    LIFE 

me  gently.  All  the  others  had  gone  and  I  was  (juite  alone  with 
her  and  the  Holy  Virgin  in  the  niche.  From  that  day  forth 
Mother  Ste.  Sophie  had  an  immense  influence  over  me.  Every 
morning  I  went  to  her,  and  Sister  Marie,  whose  forgiveness  I 
had  been  obliged  to  ask  before  the  whole  convent,  combed  my 
hair  out  in  her  presence.  Seated  on  a  little  stool  I  listened  to 
the  book  that  the  Mother  Superior  read  to  me  or  to  the  instructive 
story  she  told  me. 

Ah,  what  an  adorable  woman  she  was,  and  how  I  love  to 
recall  her  to  my  memory !  I  adored  her  as  a  little  child  adores 
the  being  who  has  entirely  w^on  its  heart,  without  knowing,  with- 
out reasoning,  without  even  being  aware  that  it  was  so,  but  I 
was  simply  under  the  spell  of  an  infinite  fascination.  Since 
then,  though,  I  have  understood  and  admired  her,  realizing  how 
unique  and  radiant  a  soul  was  imprisoned  under  the  thick-set 
exterior  and  happy  face  of  that  holy  woman,  I  have  loved  her 
for  all  that  she  awakened  within  me  of  nobleness.  I  love  her 
for  the  letters  which  she  wrote  to  me,  letters  that  I  often  read 
over  and  over  again.  I  love  her,  also,  because  imperfect  as  I 
am,  it  seems  to  me  that  I  should  have  been  one  hundred  times 
more  so,  had  I  not  known  and  loved  that  pure  creature.  Once 
only  did  I  see  her  severe  and  feel  that  she  was  suddenly  angry. 
In  the  little  room  used  as  a  parlor,  leading  into  her  cell,  there 
was  a  portrait  of  a  young  man,  whose  handsome  face  was 
stamped  with  a  certain  nobility. 

"  Is  that  the  Emperor?  "  I  asked  her. 

"  No,"  she  answered,  turning  quickly  toward  me,  "  it  is  the 
King,  it  is  Henri  V." 

It  was  only  later  on  that  I  understood  the  meaning  of  her 
emotion.  All  the  convent  was  royalist,  and  Henri  V.  was  their 
recognized  sovereign.  They  all  had  the  most  utter  contempt  for 
Napoleon  III.,  and  on  the  day  when  the  Prince  Imperial  was 
baptized  there  was  no  distribution  of  bonbons  for  us,  and  we 
were  not  allowed  the  holiday  that  was  accorded  to  all  the  colleges, 
boarding  schools,  and  convents.  Politics  were  a  dead  letter  to 
me  and  I  was.  happy  at  the  convent,  thanks  to  Mother  Ste. 
Sophie. 

25 


MKMOIUKS    Ol'    \\\     LIFi: 

'I'licii.  ton,  I  wiis  a  I'avoritc  with  my  sdinol fellows,  who 
frc(iiu'ntly  did  my  compositions  for  mc  I  did  not  care  for  any 
stiulics  cxeopt  froof^raphy  and  tlrawinj;.  Aiithmetic  drove  me 
wiM,  spcllinj;  plaj^ued  my  life  out,  and  I  thorouj^lily  d('S[)ised 
the  piano.  I  was  very  timid  and  (juite  lost  my  head  wiit-n 
questioned  unexpectedly. 

I  had  a  passion  for  animals  of  all  kinds.  1  used  to  carry 
about  with  me  in  small  cardboard  boxes,  or  cages  that  I  manu- 
factured myself,  adders,  with  which  the  woods  were  full,  criek- 
ets,  that  I  found  on  the  leaves  of  the  tiger  lilies,  and  lizards. 
The  latter  nearly  always  had  their  tails  broken,  as  in  order  to 
see  if  they  were  eating,  I  used  to  lift  the  lid  of  the  box  a  little. 
On  seeing  this  the  lizards  rushed  to  the  opening.  I  WDuld  shut 
the  box  very  quickly,  red  with  surprise  at  such  assurance,  when, 
crack !  in  a  twinkling,  either  at  the  right  or  left,  there  was  nearly 
always  a  tail  caught.  This  used  to  grieve  me  for  hours,  and 
while  one  of  the  Sisters  was  explaining  to  us,  by  figures  on  the 
blackboard,  the  metric  system,  I  was  wondering,  with  my  lizard's 
tail  in  my  hand,  how  I  could  fasten  it  on  again.  I  had  some 
death-watches  in  a  little  box,  and  five  spiders  in  a  cage  that  Pere 
Larcher  had  made  for  me  with  some  ware  netting.  I  used,  very 
cruelly,  to  give  flies  to  my  spiders  and  they,  fat  and  well-fed, 
would  spin  their  webs.  Very  often  during  recreation  a  whole 
group  of  us,  ten  or  twelve  little  girls,  would  stand  round,  with 
a  cage  on  a  bench  or  tree  stump,  and  watch  the  wonderful  work 
of  these  little  creatures.  If  one  of  my  schoolfellows  cut  herself 
I  used  to  go  quickly  to  her,  feeling  very  proud  and  important : 
*'  Come  at  once,"  I  would  say,  **  I  have  some  fresh  spider-web 
and  I  will  wrap  your  finger  in  it."  Provided  with  a  little  thin 
stick  I  would  take  the  web  and  wrap  it  round  the  wounded 
finger.  "  And  now,  my  lady  spiders,"  I  would  say,  "  you  must 
begin  your  work  again,"  and,  active  and  minute,  mesdames,  the 
spiders,  began  their  spinning  once  more. 

I  was  looked  upon  as  a  little  authority  and  was  made  umpire 
in  questions  that  had  to  be  decided.  I  used  to  receive  orders  for 
fashionable  trousseaux,  made  of  paper,  for  dolls.  It  was  quite 
an  easy  thing  for  me  in  those  days  to  make  long  ermine  cloaks 

26 


I    BEGIN    MY    CONVENT    LIFE 

with  fur  tippets  and  muff,  and  this  filled  my  little  playfellows 
with  admiration.  I  charged  for  my  trousseaux,  according  to 
their  importance,  two  pencils,  five  tctc-de-mort  nibs,  or  a  couple 
of  sheets  of  white  paper.  In  short,  I  became  a  personality,  and 
that  sufficed  for  my  childish  pride.  I  did  not  learn  anything 
and  I  received  no  distinctions.  My  name  was  only  once  on  the 
honor  list,  and  that  was  not  as  a  studious  pupil  but  for  a  cour- 
ageous deed.  I  had  fished  a  little  girl  out  of  the  big  pool.  She 
had  fallen  in  while  trying  to  catch  frogs.  The  pool  was 
in  the  large  orchard  on  the  poor  children's  side  of  the 
grounds.  As  a  punishment  for  some  misdeed,  which  I  do  not 
remember,  I  had  been  sent  away  for  two  days  among  the  poor 
children.  This  was  supposed  to  be  a  punishment  and  I  delighted 
in  it.  In  the  first  place  I  was  looked  upon  by  them  as  a  "  young 
lady. ' '  Then  I  used  to  give  the  day  pupils  a  few  sous  to  bring 
me,  on  the  sly,  a  little  moist  sugar.  During  recreation  I  heard 
some  heart-rending  shrieks  and,  rushing  to  the  pool  from  whence 
they  came,  I  saw  a  little  girl  immersed  in  it.  I  jumped  into 
the  water  without  reflecting.  There  was  so  much  mud  that  we 
both  sank  in  it.  The  little  girl  was  only  four  years  old  and  so 
small  that  she  kept  disappearing.  I  was  over  ten  at  that  time. 
I  do  not  know  how  I  managed  to  rescue  her,  but  I  dragged  her 
out  of  the  water  with  her  mouth,  nose,  ears,  and  eyes  all  filled 
with  mud.  I  was  told  afterwards  that  it  was  a  long  time  before 
she  was  restored  to  consciousness.  As  for  me,  I  was  carried 
away  with  my  teeth  chattering,  nervous  and  half  fainting.  I 
was  very  feverish  afterwards  and  Mother  Ste.  Sophie  herself 
sat  up  with  me.     I  overheard  her  words  to  the  doctor: 

"  This  child,"  she  said,  "  is  one  of  the  best  we  have  here. 
She  will  be  perfect  when  once  she  has  received  the  Holy  Chrism. 

This  speech  made  such  an  impression  on  me  that,  from  that 
day  forth,  mysticism  had  a  great  hold  on  me.  I  had  a  very  vivid 
imagination  and  was  extremely  sensitive,  and  the  Christian 
legend  took  possession  of  me,  heart  and  soul.  The  Son  of  God 
became  the  object  of  my  worship  and  the  Mother  of  the  Seven 
Sorrows,  my  ideal. 

An  event,  very  simple  in  itself,  was  destined  to  disturb  the 

27 


MKMOKIKS    OF    MY    IJFE 

silence  of  our  sccliidcd  life  iind  to  iitlar-li  iiic  more  llian  ever  to 
my  eonveiit,  wlicre  I  wanted  to  remain  forever. 

The  Archbishop  of  Paris,  Monseij^neur  Sibour,  was  payinj;  a 
round  of  visits  to  some  of  the  communities  and  ours  was  amon^ 
the  chosen  ones.  The  news  was  tobi  us  by  Mother  Ste.  Ab'xis, 
the  senior,  who  was  so  tall,  so  thin,  and  so  old  that  I  never  looked 
upon  her  as  a  human  bein<r,  or  as  a  livinfi;  bein<r.  It  always 
seemed  to  mo  as  thoujjh  she  wero  stuffed  and  as  thou^'h  she 
moved  by  machinery.  She  fri<;htened  me  and  I  never  consented 
to  go  near  to  her  until  after  her  death. 

We  were  all  assembled  in  the  large  room  which  we  used  on 
Thursdays.  Mother  Ste.  Alexis,  supported  by  two  lay  Sisters, 
stood  on  the  little  platform  and,  in  a  voice  that  sounded  far,  far 
off,  announced  to  us  the  approaching  visit  of  monseigneur.  lie 
was  to  come  on  Ste.  Catherine's  Day,  just  a  fortnight  after  the 
speech  of  the  Reverend  Mother. 

Our  peaceful  convent  was  thenceforth  like  a  beehive  in 
which  a  hornet  had  entered.  Our  lesson  hours  were  curtailed, 
so  that  we  might  have  time  to  make  festoons  of  roses  and  lilies. 
The  wide,  tall  armchair  of  carved  wood  was  uncushioned,  so  that 
it  might  be  varnished  and  polished.  We  made  lamp  shades 
covered  with  crystalline.  The  grass  was  pulled  up  in  the  court- 
yard .  .  .  and  I  cannot  tell  what  was  not  done  in  honor  of  this 
visitor. 

Two  days  after  the  announcement  made  by  ^lother  Ste. 
Alexis  the  programme  of  the  fete  was  read  to  us  by  Mother  Ste. 
Sophie.  The  youngest  of  the  nuns  was  to  read  a  few  words  of 
welcome  to  monseigneur.  This  was  the  delightful  Sister  Sera- 
phine.  After  that  Marie  Buguet  was  to  play  a  pianoforte  solo 
by  Henri  Herz.  Marie  de  Lacour  was  to  sing  a  song  by  Louise 
Puget,  and  then  a  little  play  in  three  scenes  was  to  be  given, 
entitled,  "  Toby  Recovering  His  Eyesight."  It  had  been  writ- 
ten by  Mother  Therese.  I  have  now  before  me  the  little 
manuscript,  all  yellow  with  age  and  torn,  and  I  can  only  just 
make  out  the  sense  of  it  and  a  few  of  the  phrases. 

The  little  play  was  read  to  us  by  IMother  Ste.  Therese  one 
Thui-sday,  in  the  large  assembly  room.     We  were  all  in  tears 

28 


T    BEGIN    MY    CONVENT    LIFE 

at  the  end,  and  Mother  Ste.  Therese  was  obliged  to  make  a  great 
eifort  in  order  to  avoid  connnitting-,  if  only  for  a  second,  the 
sin  of  pride. 

Scene  I.  Toby's  farewell  to  his  blind  father.  He  vows  to 
bring  back  to  him  the  ten  talents  lent  to  Gahelus,  one  of  his 
relatives.  Scene  II.  Tohy,  asleep  on  the  banlvs  of  the  Tiber, 
is  being  watched  over  by  the  Angel  Eaphael.  Struggle  with  a 
monster  fish  which  had  attacked  Tohy  while  he  slept.  When 
the  fish  is  killed  the  angel  advises  Tohy  to  take  its  heart,  its  liver, 
and  its  gall,  and  to  preserve  these  religiously.  Scene  III.  Toby's 
return  to  his  blind  father.  The  angel  tells  him  to  rub  the  old 
man's  eyes  with  the  entrails  of  the  fish.  The  father's  eyesight 
is  restored,  and  when  Toby  begs  the  Angel  Raphael  to  accept 
some  reward  the  latter  makes  himself  known,  and  in  a  song  to 
the  glory  of  God,  vanishes  to  heaven. 

I  wondered  anxiously  what  part  I  should  take  in  this  re- 
ligious comedy,  for,  considering  that  I  was  now  treated  as  a 
little  personage,  I  had  no  doubt  but  that  some  role  would  be  dis- 
tributed to  me.  The  very  thought  of  it  made  me  tremble  before- 
hand, and  I  kept  saying  to  myself:  "  Oh,  no,  I  could  never 
say  anything  aloud !  "  I  began  to  get  quite  nervous,  my 
hands  became  quite  cold,  my  heart  beat  furiously,  and  my 
temples  throbbed.  I  did  not  approach,  but  remained  sulkily 
seated  on  my  stool  when  Mother  Ste.  Therese  said  in  her  calm 
voice : 

"  Young  ladies,  please  paj^  attention,  and  listen  for  your 
names  for  the  different  parts: 

Old  Toby Eugenie  Channel 

Young  Toby Amelie  Pluche 

Gabelus Ren6e  d'Arville 

The  Angel  Raphael Louise  Buguet 

Toby's  mother Eulalie  Lacroix 

Toby's  sister Virginia  Depaul 

I  had  been  listening,  although  pretending  not  to,  and  I  was 
stupefied,  amazed,  and  furious.  Mother  Ste.  Therese  then  added : 
"  Here  are  your  manuscripts,  young  ladies,"  and  a  manuscript 

29 


MEMORIES    OF    MV    LIFE 

of  the  Iittl<>  pliiy  was  liaiidtd  lo  cacli  pupil  clioscn  tn  tako  part 
iu  it. 

Louise  BiifTUet  was  my  favorite  pla\ mate,  and  I  went  up  to 
her  and  asked  Iut  to  let  me  sec  her  mamisciipt,  which  I  read 
a^'ain  ('iilluisiastieaily. 

"  You'll  hear  me  rehearse,  wlien  I  have  learned  it,  won't 
you?"  she  aski'd,  and  I  answered  : 

"  Yes,  certainly." 

**  Oh,  how  frightened  I  shall  be!  "  she  said. 

She  had  been  chosen  for  the  anojel,  I  suppose,  because  she  was 
as  pale  and  sweet  as  a  moonbeam.  She  had  a  soft,  timid  voice, 
and  sometimes  we  used  to  make  her  cry,  as  she  was  so  pretty 
then.  The  tears  used  to  flow  limpid  and  pearl-like  from  her 
gray,  questioning  eyes. 

She  began  at  once  to  learn  her  part,  and  I  was  like  a  shep- 
herd's dog  going  from  one  to  another  among  the  chosen  ones. 
I  had  really  nothing  to  do  with  it,  but  I  wanted  to  be  "  in  it." 
The  Mother  Superior  passed  by,  and  as  we  all  courtesied  to  her 
she  patted  my  cheek. 

"  We  thought  of  you,  little  girl,"  she  said,  "  but  you  are 
so  timid  when  you  are  asked  an\i;hing. ' ' 

"  Oh,  that's  when  it  is  history  or  arithmetic!  "  I  said.  "  This 
is  not  the  same  thing,  and  I  should  not  have  been  afraid." 

She  smiled  distrustfully  and  moved  on. 

There  were  rehearsals  during  the  next  week.  I  asked  to  be 
allowed  to  take  the  part  of  the  monster,  as  I  wanted  to  have 
some  role  in  the  play,  at  any  cost.  It  w^as  decided,  though,  that 
Cesar,  the  convent  dog,  should  be  the  fish  monster. 

A  competition  was  opened  for  the  fish  costume.  I  went  to 
an  endless  amount  of  trouble,  cutting  out  scales  from  cardboard 
that  I  had  painted,  and  sewing  them  together  afterward.  I 
made  some  enormous  gills,  which  were  to  be  glued  on  to  Cesar. 
]\Iy  costume  was  not  chosen ;  it  was  passed  over  for  that  of  a 
stupid,  big  girl,  whose  name  I  cannot  remember.  She  had  made 
a  huge  tail  of  kid  and  a  mask  with  big  eyes  and  gills,  but  there 
Avere  no  scales,  and  we  should  have  to  see  Cesar's  shaggy  coat. 
I  nevertheless  turned  my  attention  to  Louise  Buguet's  costume, 

30 


I    BEGIN    MY    CONVENT    LIFE 

and  worked  at  it  with  two  of  the  lay  Sisters,  Sister  Ste.  Cecile 
and  Sister  Ste.  Jeanne,  who  had  charge  of  the  linen  room. 

At  the  rehearsals  not  a  word  could  be  extorted  from  the  Angel 
Raphael.  She  stood  there  stupefied,  on  the  little  platform, 
tears  dimming-  her  beautiful  eyes.  She  brought  the  whole  play 
to  a  standstill,  and  kept  appealing  to  me  in  a  weeping  voice. 
I  prompted  her,  and  getting  up,  rushed  to  her,  kissed  her,  and 
whispered  her  whole  speech  to  her.  I  was  beginning  to  be  "  in 
it  "  myself,  at  last. 

Finally,  two  days  before  the  great  solemnity,  there  was  a 
dress  rehearsal.  The  angel  looked  lovely,  but  immediately  on 
entering,  he  sank  down  on  a  bench  sobbing  out  in  an  imploring 
voice : 

"  Oh,  no,  I  shall  never  be  able  to  do  it,  never!  " 

"  Quite  true,  she  never  will  be  able  to,"  sighed  Mother  Ste. 
Sophie. 

Forgetting  for  the  moment  my  little  friend's  grief,  and  wild 
with  joy,  pride,  and  assurance,  I  ran  up  to  the  platform  and 
bounded  on  to  the  form  on  which  the  Angel  Raphael  had  sunk 
down  weeping. 

"  Oh,  Mother,  I  know  her  part,  shall  I  take  her  place  for 
the  rehearsal?  " 

"  Yes,  yes,"  exclaimed  voices  from  all  sides. 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  know  it  so  well,"  said  Louise  Buguet,  and  she 
wanted  to  put  her  band  on  my  head. 

"  No,  let  me  rehearse  as  I  am,  first,"  I  answered. 

They  began  the  second  scene  again  and  I  came  in  carrying  a 
long  branch  of  willow. 

"  Fear  nothing,  Toby,"  I  commenced.  "  I  will  be  your 
guide.  I  will  remove  from  your  path  all  thorns  and  stones.  .  .  . 
You  are  overwhelmed  with  fatigue.  Lie  down  and  rest,  for  I 
will  watch  over  you." 

Thereupon  Tohy,  worn  out,  lay  down  by  the  side  of  a  strip  of 
blue  muslin,  about  five  yards  of  which,  stretched  out  and  wind- 
ing about,  represented  the  Tiber. 

I  then  continued  by  a  prayer  to  God  while  Tohy  fell  asleep. 
Cesar  next  appeared  as  the  monster  fish  and  the  audience  trem- 

31 


MK.MOIUKS    OF    MV    LIFE 

bled  with  fear,  ('esar  had  l^een  well  tauj^ht  by  the  f^ardener,  Pere 
Jjareher,  and  he  advanced  slowly  from  under  the  blue  muxlin. 
lie  was  wearing  his  mask,  representing  the  head  of  a  fish.  Two 
enormous  nutshells  for  his  eyes  had  been  painted  white,  and  a 
hole  pierced  through  them,  so  that  the  dog  could  see.  The  mask 
was  fastened  with  wire  to  his  collar,  which  also  supported  two 
gills  as  large  as  palm  leaves.  Cesar,  sniffing  the  ground,  snorted 
and  growled  and  then  leaped  wildly  on  to  Tubij,  who  with  his 
cudgel,  slew  the  monster  at  one  blow.  The  dog  fell  on  his  back 
with  his  four  paws  in  the  air,  and  then  rolled  over  on  his  side, 
pretending  to  be  dead. 

There  was  wild  delight  in  the  house,  and  the  audience  clapped 
and  stamped.  The  younger  pupils  stood  up  on  their  stools  and 
shouted:  "  Good  Cesar!  Clever  Cesar!  Oh,  good  dog,  good 
dog!  "  The  Sisters,  touched  by  the  efforts  of  the  guardian  of 
the  convent,  shook  their  heads  wnth  emotion.  As  for  me,  I  quite 
forgot  that  I  was  the  Angel  Raphael,  and  I  stooped  down  and 
stroked  Cesar  affectionately.  "  Ah,  how  well  he  has  acted  his 
part!  "  I  said,  kissing  him  and  taking  one  paw  and  then  the 
other  in  my  hand,  w^hile  the  dog,  motionless,  continued  to  be 
dead. 

The  little  bell  was  rung  to  call  us  to  order.  I  stood  up  again, 
and  accompanied  by  the  piano,  we  burst  into  a  hymn  of  praise,  a 
duet  to  the  gloi-y  of  God,  who  had  just  saved  Toby  from  the  fear- 
ful monster. 

After  this  the  little  green  serge  curtain  was  drawn  and  I  was 
surrounded,  petted,  and  praised.  Mother  Ste.  Sophie  came  up 
onto  the  platform  and  kissed  me  affectionately.  As  to  Louise 
Buguet,  she  was  now  joyful  again  and  her  angelic  face  beamed. 

"  Oh,  how  w^ell  you  knew  the  part!  "  she  said.  "  And  then, 
too,  everyone  can  hear  what  you  say.  Oh,  thank  you  so  nuieh !  " 
She  kissed  me  and  I  hugged  her  Avith  all  my  might — at  last  I 
was  in  it! 

The  third  scene  began.  The  action  took  place  in  Father 
Toby's  house.  Gabelus,  the  Angel,  and  young  Toby  were  hold- 
ing the  entrails  of  the  fish  in  their  hands  and  looking  at  them. 
The  Angel  explained  how  they  must  be  used  for  rubbing  the 

32 


I    BEGIN    MY    CONVENT    LIFE 

blind  father's  eyes.  I  felt  rather  sick,  for  I  was  holding  in  my 
hand  a  skate 's  liver,  and  the  heart  and  gizzard  of  a  fowl.  I  had 
never  touched  such  things  before  and  every  now  and  then  the  sick 
feeling  made  me  heave,  and  the  tears  came  into  my  eyes. 

Finally,  the  blind  father  came  in,  led  by  Toby's  sister. 
Gahelus  knelt  down  before  the  old  man  and  gave  him  the  ten 
silver  talents,  telling  him  in  a  long  recital,  of  Toby's  exploits 
in  Media.  After  this  Toby  advanced,  embraced  his  father  and 
then  rubbed  his  eyes  with  the  skate's  liver. 

Eugenie  Charmel  made  a  grimace,  but  after  wiping  her  eyes 
she  exclaimed: 

"  I  can  see,  I  can  see.  0  God  of  goodness,  God  of  mercy,  I 
can  see,  I  can  see!  ". 

She  came  forward  with  outstretched  arms,  her  eyes  open,  in 
an  ecstatic  attitude,  and  the  whole  little  assembly,  so  simple-mind- 
ed and  loving,  wept. 

All  the  actors  except  old  Toby  and  the  Angel  sank  on  their 
knees  and  gave  praise  to  God,  and  at  the  close  of  this  thanksgiv- 
ing the  public,  moved  by  religious  sentiment  and  discipline,  re- 
peated. Amen! 

Toby's  mother  then  approached  the  Angel  and  said: 

"  Oh,  noble  stranger,  take  up  your  abode  from  henceforth 
with  us ;  you  shall  be  our  guest,  our  son,  our  brother !  ' ' 

I  then  advanced,  and  in  a  long  speech  of  at  least  thirty  lines, 
made  known  that  I  was  the  messenger  of  God,  that  I  was  the 
Angel  Raphael.  I  then  gathered  up  quickly  the  pale  blue  tarla- 
tan, which  was  being  concealed  for  a  final  effect,  and  veiled  my- 
self in  cloudy  tissue  which  was  intended  to  simulate  my  flight 
heavenward.  The  little  green  serge  curtain  was  then  closed  on 
this  apotheosis. 

Finally  the  solemn  day  arrived.  I  was  so  feverish  with  ex- 
pectation that  I  could  not  sleep  the  last  three  nights.  The  dress- 
ing bell  was  rung  for  us  earlier  than  usual,  but  I  was  already  up 
and  trying  to  smooth  my  rebellious  hair,  which  I  brushed  with  a 
wet  brush  by  way  of  making  it  behave  better. 

Monseigneur  was  to  arrive  at  eleven  o'clock  in  the  morning. 
4  33 


MEMORIES    OF    MV    TJFE 

We  tlicrcCon'  Iiuu'licd  at  ten  and  were  tlifji  drawn  up  in  the  prin- 
cipal fi)urtyar(l.  Only  Motlicr  Ste.  Alexis,  the  eldest  of  the 
niuis,  was  in  tiie  li-ont  and  Mother  Ste.  Sophie  just  behind  her. 
The  almoner  was  a  little  distance  away  from  the  two  Superiors. 
Then  fame  the  other  nuns,  and  behind  them  the  f^irls,  and  then 
all  the  little  children.  The  lay  Sisters  and  the  servants  were  also 
there.  We  were  all  dressed  in  white  with  the  respective  colors  of 
our  various  classes. 

The  bell  ranj;  out  a  peal.  The  large  carriage  entered  the  first 
courtyard.  The  gate  of  the  principal  courtyard  was  then  opened 
and  Monseigneur  appeared  on  the  carriage  steps,  which  the  foot- 
man lowered  for  him.  Mother  Ste.  Alexis  advanced,  and  bend- 
ing down,  kissed  the  episcopal  ring.  Mother  Ste.  Sophie,  the 
Superior,  who  was  younger,  knelt  down  to  kiss  the  ring.  The 
signal  was  then  given  to  us  and  we  all  knelt  to  receive  the  bene- 
diction of  Monseigneur.  When  we  looked  up  again  the  big  gate 
was  closed  and  Monseigneur  had  disappeared,  conducted  by  the 
]\Iother  Superior.  Mother  Ste.  Alexis  was  exhausted,  and  went 
back  to  her  cell. 

In  obedience  to  the  signal  given  we  all  rose  from  our  knees. 
T\  e  then  went  to  the  chapel  where  a  short  mass  wtis  celebrated, 
after  which  we  had  an  hour's  recreation.  The  concert  was  to 
commence  at  half-past  one.  The  recreation  hour  was  devoted  to 
preparing  the  large  room  and  to  getting  ready  to  appear  before 
Monseigneur.  I  w^ore  the  Angel's  long  robe  with  a  blue  sash 
round  my  w^aist,  and  two  paper  wings  fastened  on  with  narrow 
blue  straps,  that  crossed  over  each  other  in  front.  Round  my 
head  was  a  band  of  gold  braid,  fastening  behind.  I  kept  mum- 
bling my  "  part  "  (for  in  those  days  we  did  not  know  the  woi-d 
"  role  ").  We  are  more  used  to  the  theater  at  present,  but  at 
the  convent  we  always  said  "  part,"  and  years  afterwards  I  was 
surprised,  the  first  time  I  played  in  England,  to  hear  a  young 
English  girl  say :  "  Oh,  what  a  fine  part  you  had  in  '  Hernani.'  " 

The  room  looked  beautiful,  oh,  so  beautiful!  There  were 
festoons  of  green  leaves,  with  paper  flowers  at  intervals,  every- 
where. Then  there  were  little  lusters  hung  about  with  gold  cord. 
A  wide  piece  of  red  velvet  carpet  was  laid  down  from  the  door 

34 


I    BEGIN    MY    CONVENT    LIFE 

to  Monseigneur 's  armchair,  upon  which  were  two  cushions  of 
red  velvet  with  gold  fringe. 

I  thought  all  these  horrors  very  fine,  very  beautiful ! 

The  concert  began  and  it  seemed  to  me  that  everything  went 
very  well.  Monseigneur,  however,  could  not  help  smiling  at  the 
sight  of  Cesar,  and  it  was  he  who  led  the  applause  when  the  dog 
died.  It  was  Cesar,  in  fact,  who  had  the  greatest  success,  but  we 
were  nevertheless  sent  for  to  appear  before  Monseigneur  Sibour. 
He  was  certainly  the  kindest  and  most  charming  of  prelates  and 
on  this  occasion  he  gave  to  each  of  us  a  consecrated  medal. 

When  my  turn  came  he  took  my  hand  in  his  and  said : 

"  It  is  you,  my  child,  who  are  not  baptized,  is  it  not?  " 

"  Yes,  Reverend  Father,  yes,  Monseigneur,"  I  replied  in 
confusion. 

"  She  is  to  be  baptized  this  spring,"  said  the  Mother  Supe- 
rior. ' '  Her  father  is  coming  back  specially  from  a  very  distant 
country. ' ' 

She  and  Monseigneur  then  said  a  few  words  to  each  other  in 
a  very  low  voice. 

"  Very  well,  if  I  can,  I  will  come  again  for  the  ceremony," 
said  the  archbishop  aloud. 

I  was  trembling  with  emotion  and  pride  as  I  kissed  the  old 
man's  ring  and  then  ran  away  to  the  dormitory,  and  cried  for  a 
long  time.  I  was  found  there,  later  on,  fast  asleep  from  ex- 
haustion. 

From  that  day  forth  I  was  a  better  child,  more  studious  and 
less  violent.  In  my  fits  of  anger  I  was  calmed  by  the  mention  of 
Monseigneur  Sibour 's  name,  and  reminded  of  his  promise  to  come 
for  my  baptism. 

Alas !  I  was  not  destined  to  have  that  great  joy.  One  morning 
in  January,  when  we  were  all  assembled  in  the  chapel  for  mass,  I 
was  surprised,  and  had  a  foreboding  of  coming  evil,  when  I  saw 
the  Abbe  Lethurgi  go  up  into  the  pulpit  before  commencing  the 
mass.  He  was  very  pale,  and  I  turned  instinctively  to  look  at 
the  Mother  Superior.  She  was  seated  in  her  regular  place.  The 
almoner  then  began,  in  a  voice  broken  with  emotion,  to  tell  us  of 
the  murder  of  Monseigneur  Sibour. 

35 


MEMORIES    OF    MY    LIFE 

IMiirdi'i'cd  !  A  llirill  ol"  lioi-foi-  wcnl  Ihfoiij^li  us  and  a  liiin- 
drcd  stirtcd  cries,  furininf;  one  ^oat  sob,  drowned  for  an  instant 
the  priest's  voice.  Murdered!  The  word  seemed  to  sting  me 
personally  even  more  than  the  others.  Had  I  not  been,  for  one 
instant,  the  favorite  of  the  kind  old  man !  It  was  as  thonj^h  the 
murderer,  Verger,  had  struck  at  me,  too,  in  my  grateful  love  for 
tlie  prelate,  in  my  little  fame  of  which  he  had  now  robbed  me.  I 
burst  into  sobs,  and  the  organ  accompanying  the  prayer  for  the 
dead  increased  my  grief,  which  became  so  intense  that  I  fainted. 
It  was  from  this  moment  that  I  was  taken  with  an  ardent  love 
for  mysticism.  It  was  fortified  by  the  religious  exercises,  the 
dramatic  effort  of  our  worehip  and  the  gentle  encouragement, 
both  fervent  and  sincere,  of  those  who  were  educating  me.  They 
were  very  fond  of  me  and  I  adored  them  so  that  even  now  the 
very  memory  of  them,  fascinating  and  restful  as  it  is,  thrills  me 
with  affection. 

The  time  appointed  for  my  baptism  drew  near,  and  I  grew 
more  and  more  excitable.  My  nervous  attacks  were  more  and 
more  frequent,  fits  of  tears  for  no  reason  at  all,  and  fits  of  terror 
without  any  cause.  Everything  seemed  to  take  strange  propor- 
tions, as  far  as  I  was  concerned.  One  day  one  of  my  little  friends 
dropped  a  doll  that  I  had  lent  her  (  for  I  played  with  dolls  until 
I  was  over  thirteen).  I  began  to  tremble  all  over,  as  I  adored 
that  doll,  which  had  been  given  to  me  by  my  father. 

"  You  have  broken  my  doll's  head,  you  naughty  girl!  "  I  ex- 
claimed.    ' '  You  have  hurt  my  father !  ' ' 

I  would  not  eat  anything  afterwards,  and  in  the  night  I  woke 
up  in  a  great  perspiration,  with  haggard  eyes,  sobbing : 

"  Papa  is  dead!     Papa  is  dead!  *' 

Three  days  later  my  mother  came.  She  asked  to  see  me  in 
the  parlor,  and  making  me  stand  in  front  of  her,  she  said  : 

"  My  poor  little  girl,  I  have  something  to  tell  you  that  will 
cause  you  great  sorrow.     Papa  is  dead." 

"  I  know,"  I  said,  "  I  know,"  and  the  expression  in  my 
eyes,  my  mother  frequently  told  me  afterwards,  was  such  that 
she  trembled  a  long  time  for  my  reason. 

I  was  very  sad  and  not  at  all  well.     I  refused  to  learn  any- 

36 


SARAH    BERNHARDT   AND    HER    MOTHER. 


I    BEGIN    MY    CONVENT    LIFE 

thing  except  the  catechism  and  Scripture,  and  I  wanted  to  be  a 
nun. 

My  mother  begged  to  have  my  two  sisters  baptized  with 
me ;  Jeanne,  who  was  then  six  years  old,  and  Regina,  who  was  not 
three,  but  who  had  been  taken  as  a  boarder  at  the  convent,  with 
the  idea  that  her  presence  might  cheer  me  a  little. 

I  Avas  isolated  for  a  week  before  my  baptism  and  for  a  week 
afterwards,  as  I  was  to  be  confirmed  the  week  after  my  baptism. 

My  mother,  Aunt  Rosine  Berendt,  and  Aunt  Henriette  Faure, 
my  godfather,  Regis  Lavallee,  M.  Lesprin,  Jeanne's  godfather, 
and  General  Poles,  Regina 's  godfather,  the  godmothers  of  my 
two  sisters,  and  my  various  cousins  all  came  and  revolutionized 
the  convent.  My  mother  and  my  aunts  were  in  fashionable 
mourning  attire.  Aunt  Rosine  had  put  a  spray  of  lilac  in  her 
bonnet  "  to  enliven  her  mourning,"  as  she  said.  It  was  a 
strange  expression,  but  I  have  certainly  heard  it  since  used  by 
other  people  besides  her. 

I  had  never  before  felt  so  far  away  from  all  these  people  who 
had  come  there  on  my  account.  I  adored  my  mother,  but  with  a 
touching  and  fervent  desire  to  leave  her,  never  to  see  her  again, 
to  sacrifice  her  to  God.  As  to  the  others  I  did  not  see  them.  I 
was  very  grave  and  rather  moody.  A  short  time  previously  a 
nun  had  taken  the  veil  at  the  convent  and  I  could  think  of  nothing 
else. 

This  baptismal  ceremony  was  the  prelude  to  my  dream.  I 
could  see  myself  like  the  novice  who  had  just  been  admitted  as  a 
nun.  I  pictured  myself  lying  down  on  the  ground,  covered  over 
with  a  heavy,  black  cloth,  with  its  white  cross,  and  four  massive 
candlesticks  placed  at  the  four  corners  of  the  cloth.  And  I 
planned  to  die  under  this  cloth.  How  I  was  to  do  this  I 
did  not  know.  I  did  not  think  of  killing  myself,  as  I  knew  that 
would  be  a  crime.  But  I  made  up  my  mind  to  die  like  this,  and 
my  ideas  galloped  along  so  that  I  saw  in  my  imagination  the 
horror  of  the  Sisters  and  heard  the  cries  of  the  pupils  and  was 
delighted  at  the  emotion  which  I  had  caused. 

After  the  baptismal  ceremony  my  mother  wished  to  take  me 
away  with  her.    She  had  rented  a  small  house  with  a  garden  in 

37 


MKMOllIES    OF    MV     LIFE 

tlic  lioiilt'VMrd  (Ic  lii  Kciric,  ;it  Versailles,  for  my  liolidays,  and 
she  liiid  (leeoi-alecl  it  with  tiowei's  \'i)r  this  fete  day,  as  she  wanted 
to  eelehrate  tlie  haptisin  oi'  her  three  ehildreii.  She  was  very 
gently  told  tiiat,  as  I  was  to  be  conHrined  in  a  week's  time,  I  was 
not  to  be  isolated  until  then.  My  mother  cried,  and  I  can  re- 
member now,  to  my  soiTow,  that  it  did  not  make  me  sad  to  see 
her  tears,  but  (juite  the  contrary. 

When  everyone  had  gone  and  I  went  into  the  little  cell,  in 
which  I  had  been  living  for  the  last  week  and  was  to  live  for  an- 
other week,  I  fell  on  my  knees  in  a  state  of  exaltation  and  offered 
up  to  God  my  mother's  sorrow. 

"  You  saw,  0  Lord  God,  that  mamma  cried  and  that  it  did 
not  affect  me."  Poor  child  that  I  was,  I  imagined  in  my  wild 
exaggeration  of  everything  that  what  was  expected  from  me  was 
the  renunciation  of  all  affection,  devotion,  and  pity. 

The  following  day,  JMother  Ste.  Sophie  lectured  me  gently 
about  my  wrong  comprehension  of  religious  duties,  and  she  told 
me  that  when  once  I  was  confirmed  she  should  give  me  a  fort- 
night's holiday,  to  go  and  make  my  mother  forget  her  sorrow  and 
disappointment. 

]\Iy  confirmation  took  place  with  the  same  pompous  cere- 
monial. All  the  pupils,  dressed  in  white,  carried  wax  tapers. 
For  the  whole  week  I  had  refused  to  eat.  I  M-as  pale  and  had 
grown  thinner  and  my  eyes  looked  larger  from  my  perpetual 
transports,  for  I  went  to  extremes  in  ever;y'thing. 

Baron  Larrey,  who  came  with  my  mother  to  my  confirmation, 
begged  for  me  to  have  a  month's  holiday  to  recruit,  and  this  was 
accorded. 

Accordingly  we  started,  my  mother,  ]\Ime.  Guerard,  her  son 
Ernest,  my  sister  Jeanne  and  I,  for  Cauterets  in  the  Pyrenees. 

The  movement,  the  packing  of  the  trunks,  parcels,  and  pack- 
ages, the  railway,  the  diligence,  the  scenery,  the  crowds,  and  the 
general  disturbance  cured  me  and  my  nerves  and  my  mysticism. 
I  clapped  my  hands,  laughed  aloud,  flung  myself  on  mannna  and 
nearly  stifled  her  with  kisses.  I  sang  hymns  at  the  top  of  my 
voice,  I  was  hungry  and  thirsty,  so  I  ate,  drank,  and  in  a  word, 
lived. 

38 


CHAPTER   III 


A  PRANK   AND   ITS   RESULTS 


AUTERETS  at  that  time  was  not  what  it  is  now.  It 
was  an  abominable  but  charming  little  hole  of  a 
place  with  plenty  of  verdure,  very  few  houses,  and  a 
great  many  huts  belonging  to  the  mountain  people. 
There  were  plenty  of  donkeys  to  be  hired  that  took  us  up  the 
mountains  by  extraordinary  paths.  I  adore  the  sea  and  the 
plain,  but  I  care  neither  for  mountains  nor  for  forests.  Moun- 
tains seem  to  crush  me,  and  forests  to  stifle  me.  I  must,  at  any 
cost,  have  the  horizon  stretching  out  as  far  as  the  eye  can  see, 
and  skies  to  dream  about. 

I  wanted  to  go  up  the  mountains,  so  that  they  should  lose 
their  crushing  effect.  And  consequently  we  went  up  always 
higher  and  higher.  Mamma  used  to  stay  at  home  with  her 
sweet  friend  Mme.  Guerard.  She  used  to  read  novels  while 
Mme.  Guerard  embroidered.  They  would  sit  there  together 
without  speaking,  each  dreaming  her  own  dream,  seeing  it  fade 
aAvay  and  beginning  it  over  again.  The  old  servant  Marguerite 
was  the  only  domestic  mamma  had  brought  with  her,  and  she  used 
to  accompany  us,  and  was  always  gay  and  daring.  She  always 
knew  how  to  make  the  men  laugh  with  speeches,  the  sense  and 
crudeness  of  which  I  did  not  understand  until  much  later.  She 
was  the  life  of  the  party  always.  As  she  had  been  with  us  from 
the  time  we  were  born,  she  was  very  familiar,  and  sometimes 
objectionably  so.  I  would  not  let  her  have  her  own  way  with  me, 
though,  and  I  used  to  answer  her  back  in  the  most  cutting  man- 
ner. She  would  take  her  revenge  in  the  evening  by  giving  us  a 
dish  of  sweets  for  dinner  that  I  did  not  like. 

39 


MEMORIES    l)V    MV    LIFE 

I  began  to  look  belter  for  Ibe  clum^n-,  and  although  still  very 
religious,  my  mysticism  was  growing  calmer.  As  I  could  not 
exist,  however,  without  a  passion  of  some  kind  I  began  to  get 
very  fond  of  the  goats,  and  I  asked  mamma  quite  seriously 
whether  I  might  become  a  goat-lierd. 

"  I  would  rather  you  were  that  than  a  nun,"  she  replied,  and 
then  she  added:     "  We  will  talk  about  it  later  on," 

Every  day  I  brought  down  with  me  from  the  mountain 
another  little  kid,  and  we  already  had  seven  when  my  mother 
interfered  and  put  a  stop  to  my  zeal. 

Finally  it  was  time  to  return  to  the  convent.  My  holiday 
was  over  and  I  was  quite  well  again.  I  was  to  go  back  to  work 
once  more.  I  accepted  the  situation  wdllingly  to  the  great  sur- 
prise of  mamma,  who  loved  traveling,  but  detested  the  actual 
moving  from  one  place  to  another. 

I  was  delighted  at  the  idea  of  the  repacking  of  the  parcels 
and  trunks,  of  being  seated  in  things  that  moved  along,  of  seeing 
again  all  the  villages,  towns,  people,  and  trees  that  changed  all 
the  time.  I  wanted  to  take  my  goats  with  me  but  my  mother 
very  positively  refused. 

"  You  are  mad,"  she  exclaimed,  "  seven  goats  in  a  train  and 
in  a  carriage!  Where  could  you  put  them?  No,  a  hundred 
times  no !  " 

She  finally  consented  to  my  taking  two  of  them  and  a  black- 
bird that  one  of  the  mountaineers  had  given  me. 

And  so  we  returned  to  the  convent.  I  was  received  there 
with  such  sincere  joy  that  I  felt  very  happy  again  immediately. 
I  was  allowed  to  keep  my  two  goats  there  and  to  have  them  out 
at  plaj'time.  We  had  great  fun  with  them ;  they  used  to  bunt 
us  and  we  used  to  bunt  them,  and  we  laughed,  frolicked,  and  were 
very  foolish.  And  yet  I  was  nearly  fourteen  at  this  time,  but 
very  puny  and  childish. 

I  stayed  at  the  convent  another  ten  months  without  learning 
anything  more.  The  idea  of  becoming  a  nun  always  haunted  me, 
but  I  was  no  longer  a  mystic. 

]\Iy  godfather  looked  upon  me  as  the  greatest  dunce.  I 
worked,  though,  during  the  holidays  and  I  used  to  have  lessons 

40 


A    PRANK    AND    ITS    llESULTS 

with  Sophie  Croizette  who  lived  near  to  our  country  house.  This 
gave  a  slight  impetus  to  me  in  my  studies,  but  it  was  only  slight. 
Sophie  was  very  gay,  and  what  we  liked  best  was  to  go  to 
the  Museum  where  her  sister  Pauline,  who  was  later  on  to 
become  Mme.  Carolus  Duran,  was  copying  pictures  by  the  great 
masters. 

Pauline  was  as  cold  and  calm  as  Sophie  was  charming,  talk- 
ative, and  noisy.  Pauline  Croizette  was  beautiful,  but  I  liked 
Sophie  better;  she  was  more  gracious  and  pretty.  Mme. 
Croizette,  their  mother,  always  seemed  sad  and  resigned.  She 
had  given  up  her  career  very  early.  She  had  been  a  dancer  at  the 
Opera  in  St.  Petersburg  and  had  been  very  much  adored  and 
flattered  and  spoiled.  I  fancy  it  was  the  birth  of  Sophie  that  had 
compelled  her  to  leave  the  stage.  Her  money  then  had  been  in- 
judiciously invested  and  she  had  been  ruined.  She  was  very 
distinguished-looking,  her  face  had  a  kind  expression,  there  was 
an  infinite  melancholy  about  her  and  people  were  instinctively 
drawn  toward  her.  Mamma  had  made  her  acquaintance  while 
listening  to  the  music  in  the  park  at  Versailles,  and  for  some 
time  we  saw  a  great  deal  of  her. 

Sophie  and  I  had  some  fine  games  in  that  magnificent  park. 
Our  greatest  joy,  though,  was  to  go  to  Mme.  Masson  's  in  the  Rue 
de  la  Gare.  Mme.  Masson  had  a  curiosity  shop.  Her  daugh- 
ter Cecile  was  a  perfect  little  beauty.  We  three  used  to  delight 
in  changing  the  tickets  on  the  vases,  snuffboxes,  fans,  and  jewels, 
and  then,  when  poor  M.  Masson  came  back  with  a  rich  customer — 
for  ]\Iasson,  the  antiquary,  enjoyed  a  world-wide  reputation — 
Sophie  and  I  used  to  hide  so  that  we  should  see  his  fury. 
Cecile,  with  an  innocent  air,  would  be  helping  her  mother  and 
glancing  slyly  at  us  from  time  to  time. 

The  whirl  of  life  separated  me  brusquely  from  all  these 
people  whom  I  loved,  and  an  incident,  trivial  in  itself,  caused 
me  to  leave  the  convent  earlier  than  my  mother  wished. 

It  was  a  fete  day  and  we  had  two  hours  for  recreation.  We 
were  marching  in  procession  along  the  wall  which  skirts  the  rail- 
way on  the  left  bank  of  the  Seine  and  as  we  were  burying  my  pet 
lizard  we  were  chanting  the  ' '  De  Prof undis. ' '     About  twenty  of 

41 


MKM()Hii:s  ov  y\\   lAvi: 

my    little    i)lii\  rcjjdws    wri-c    lollowiii^'    me,    whi'ii    Huddt'tily    a 
soldier's  cap  IVll  at  my  IVi't. 

"  What's  tliat?  "  called  out  out-  oi'  the  j,Mrls, 

"  A  soldier's  cap." 

"  Did  it  come  from  over  the  wall?  " 

"  Yes,  yes,  .  .  .  Listen,  there's  a  (juarrd  jjjoinj^  on!  " 

We  were  suddenly  silent,  listening:  with  all  our  ears. 

*'  Don't  be  stupid  !     It's  idiotic  !  " 

"  It's  the  Grandehamps  Convent!  " 

"  How  am  I  to  get  my  cap  back?  " 

These  w^re  the  words  we  overheard  and  then,  as  a  soldier 
suddenly  appeared  astride  our  wall,  there  were  shrieks  from  the 
terrified  children  and  angry  exclamations  from  the  nuns. 

In  a  second  we  were  all  about  twenty  yards  away  from  the 
wall,  like  a  group  of  frightened  sparrows  flying  off  to  land  a 
little  farther  away,  inquisitive  and  very  much  on  the  alert. 
"■  Have  you  seen  my  cap,  young  ladies?  "  called  out  the  un- 
fortunate soldier  in  a  beseeching  tone. 

"  No,  no !  "I  cried,  hiding  it  behind  my  back, 

"  Oh,  no !  "  echoed  the  other  girls  with  peals  of  laughter,  and 
in  the  most  tormenting,  insolent,  jeering  way  we  continued  shout- 
ing "  No!  "  "  No!  "  running  backward  all  the  time  in  reply  to 
the  Sisters  who,  veiled  and  hidden  behind  the  trees,  were  in 
despair. 

We  were  only  a  few  yards  from  the  huge  gymnasium.  I 
climbed  up  breathless  at  full  speed  and  reached  the  wide  plank 
at  the  top.  When  there,  I  unfastened  the  rope  ladder,  but  as  I 
could  not  get  the  wooden  ladder  up  to  me  by  which  I  had  mount- 
ed, I  unfastened  the  rings  and  banged  it  down  so  that  it  broke, 
nuvking  a  great  noise.  I  then  stood  up  wickedlj'  triumphant  on 
the  plank,  calling  out:  "  Here  it  is — ^your  cap,  but  you  won't 
get  it  now!  "  I  put  it  on  my  head  and  walked  up  and  down, 
as  no  one  could  get  to  me  there.  I  suppose  my  first  idea  had 
just  been  to  have  a  little  fun,  but  the  girls  had  laughed  and 
clapped,  and  my  strength  had  held  out  better  than  I  had 
hoped,  so  that  my  head  was  turned,  and  nothing  could  stop 
me  then. 

42 


A    PRANK    AND    ITS    RESULTS 

The  young  soldier  was  furious.  lie  jumped  down  from  the 
wall  and  rushed  in  my  direction,  pushing  the  girls  out  of  his  way. 
The  Sisters,  beside  themselves,  ran  to  the  house  calling  for  help. 
The  chaplain,  the  Mother  Superior,  Pere  Larcher  and  every- 
one else  came  running  out.  I  believe  the  soldier  swore  like  a 
trooper,  and  it  was  really  quite  excusable.  Mother  Ste.  Sophie, 
from  below,  besought  me  to  come  down  and  to  give  up  the  cap. 
The  soldier  tried  to  get  up  to  me  by  means  of  the  trapeze,  but  on 
seeing  this  I  quickly  drew  up  the  knotted  rope. 

His  useless  efforts  delighted  all  the  pupils,  whom  the  Sisters 
had  in  vain  tried  to  send  away.  Finally  the  Sister  who  was 
doorkeeper  sounded  the  alarm  bell,  and  five  minutes  later  the 
soldiers  from  the  Sartory  Barracks  arrived,  thinking  that  a  fire 
had  broken  out.  When  the  officer  in  command  was  told  what  was 
the  matter,  he  sent  back  his  men  and  asked  to  see  the  Mother 
Superior.  He  M'as  brought  to  Mother  Ste.  Sophie,  whom  he 
found  at  the  foot  of  the  gymnasium,  crying  with  shame  and  im- 
potence. He  ordered  the  soldier  to  return  immediately  to  the 
barracks.  He  obeyed  after  clenching  his  fist  at  me,  but  on  look- 
ing up  he  could  not  help  laughing.  His  cap  came  down  to  my 
eyes  and  was  only  kept  back  by  my  ears,  which  were  bent,  to  pre- 
vent it  from  covering  my  face. 

I  was  furious  and  wildly  excited  with  the  turn  my  joke  had 
taken. 

"  There  it  is — your  cap !  "  I  called  out,  and  flung  it  violently 
over  the  wall  which  skirted  the  gymnasium  and  formed  the 
boundary  to  the  cemetery. 

"  Oh,  the  young  plague!  "  muttered  the  officer,  and  then, 
apologizing  to  the  nuns,  he  saluted  them  and  went  away  accom- 
panied by  Pere  Larcher. 

As  for  me  I  felt  like  a  fox  after  having  its  tail  cut.  I  refused 
to  come  down  immediately. 

"  I  shall  come  down  when  everyone  has  gone  away,"  I  an- 
nounced. All  the  girls  received  punishments  and  I  was  left 
alone.  The  sun  set  and  the  silence  then  terrified  me,  looking  as 
I  did  out  on  the  cemetery.  The  dark  trees  took  mournful  or 
threatening  shapes.     The  moisture  from  the  wood  fell  like  a 

43 


MKMOUIKS    OF    MY    LIFE 

iiiniitlc  over  my  slioiildcfs  nnd  sccrmd  to  i^d  heavier  evnry 
iiionieiit.  I  felt  abandoned  l)y  everyone  an(J  I  he<,'an  to  crj'.  I 
Avas  an:^Ty  witli  myseli',  with  the  sohlier,  with  Mother  Stc. 
Sdpliie,  wilh  the  {)upils  who  had  excited  me  by  their  laughter, 
with  the  offieer  who  had  humiliated  me,  and  with  the  Sister  who 
had  soiuuled  the  alarm  bell. 

Then  I  began  to  think  about  getting  down  the  rope  ladder, 
which  I  had  pulled  up  on  the  plank.  Very  clumsily,  trembling 
with  fear  at  the  least  sound,  listening  eagerly  all  the  time,  and 
with  eyes  looking  to  the  right  and  left,  I  was  a  long  time  un- 
hooking it,  being  very  much  afraid.  Finally,  I  managed  to  un- 
roll it,  and  I  was  just  about  to  put  my  foot  on  the  first  rung  when 
the  barking  of  Cesar  alarmed  me.  He  was  tearing  along  from 
the  wood.  The  sight  of  the  dark  figure  on  the  gj'mnasium  ap- 
peared to  the  faithful  dog  to  bode  no  good.  He  was  furious  and 
began  to  scratch  the  thick  wooden  uprights. 

''  Why,  Cesar,  don't  you  know  your  friend?  "  I  said  very 
gently.     He  growled  in  reply  and  in  a  louder  voice  I  said : 

"  Fie,  Cesar,  bad  Cesar,  you  ought  to  be  ashamed!  Fancy 
barking  at  your  friend !  ' '  He  now  began  to  howl  and  I  was 
seized  with  terror.  I  pulled  the  ladder  up  again  and  sat  down  at 
the  top.  Cesar  lay  down  at  the  bottom  of  the  gymnasium,  his  tail 
straight  out,  his  ears  pricked  up,  his  coat  bristling,  growling  in  a 
sullen  wa3^  I  appealed  to  the  Holy  Virgin  to  help  me.  I  prayed 
fervently,  vowed  to  say  three  Aves,  three  Credos,  and  three 
Paters  as  well  every  day. 

When  I  w'as  a  little  calmer  I  called  out  in  a  subdued  voice : 
' '  Cesar !  my  dear  Cesar,  my  beautiful  Cesar !  You  know  I  am 
the  Angel  Raphacll  " 

Ah,  much  Cesar  cared  for  him !  He  considered  my  presence, 
quite  alone,  at  so  late  an  hour,  in  the  garden  and  on  the  gym- 
nasium, quite  incomprehensible.  Why  was  I  not  in  the  refec- 
tory? 

Poor  Cesar,  he  went  on  growling,  and  I  was  getting  very  liun- 
gry  and  began  to  think  things  were  most  unjust.  It  Avas  true 
that  I  had  been  to  blame  for  taking  the  soldier's  cap,  but  after 
all  he  had  begun  it  all.     Why  had  he  thrown  his  cap  over  the 

44 


A    PRANK    AND    ITS    RESULTS 

wall?  My  imagination  now  came  to  my  aid,  and  in  the  end  I 
began  to  look  upon  myself  as  a  martyr.  I  had  been  left  to  the 
dog,  and  he  would  eat  me.  I  was  terrified  at  the  dead  people  be- 
hind me,  and  everyone  knew  I  was  very  nervous.  My  chest,  too, 
was  delicate,  and  there  I  was  exposed  to  the  biting  cold  with  no 
protection  whatever.  I  began  to  think  about  Mother  Ste.  Sophie, 
who  evidently  no  longer  cared  for  me,  as  she  was  deserting  me  so 
cruelly.  I  lay  with  my  face  downward  on  the  plank,  and  gave 
myself  up  to  the  wildest  despair,  calling  my  mother,  my  father, 
and  Mother  Ste.  Sophie,  sobbing,  wishing  I  could  die  there  and 
then ;  between  my  sobs  I  suddenly  heard  my  name  pronounced  by 
a  gentle  voice.  I  got  up,  and  peering  through  the  gloom,  caught 
a  glimpse  of  my  beloved  Mother  Ste.  Sophie,  She  was  there,  the 
dear  saint,  and  had  never  left  her  rebellious  child.  Concealed 
behind  the  statue  of  St.  Augustine,  she  had  been  praying  while 
awaiting  the  end  of  this  crisis,  which  in  her  simplicity  she  had 
believed  might  prove  fatal  to  my  reason  and  perhaps  to  my  sal- 
vation. She  had  sent  everyone  away  and  remained  there  alone 
and  she,  too,  had  not  dined.  I  came  down  and  threw  myself  re- 
pentant and  wretched  into  her  motherly  arms.  She  did  not 
say  a  word  to  me  about  the  horrible  incident,  but  took  me 
quickly  back  to  the  convent.  I  was  all  damp,  with  the  icy 
evening  dew,  my  cheeks  were  feverish,  and  my  hands  and  feet 
frozen. 

I  had  an  attack  of  pleurisy  after  this  and  was  twenty-three 
days  between  life  and  death.  Mother  Ste.  Sophie  never  left  me 
an  instant.  The  sweet  Mother  blamed  herself  for  my  illness,  de- 
claring as  she  beat  her  breast  that  she  had  left  me  outside  too 
long. 

"  It's  my  fault!     It's  my  fault!  "  she  kept  exclaiming. 

My  Aunt  Faure  came  to  see  me  nearly  every  day.  My  mother 
was  in  Scotland  and  came  back  by  short  stages.  My  Aunt  Rosine 
was  at  Baden  Baden  and  was  ruining  the  whole  family.  *'  I  am 
coming  back,"  she  kept  writing  from  time  to  time,  when  she 
wrote  to  ask  how  I  was.  Dr.  D'Espagne  and  Dr.  Monod,  who 
had  been  called  in  for  a  consultation,  did  not  think  there  was 
any  hope.    Baron  Larrey,  who  was  very  fond  of  me,  came  often. 

45 


MEMORIES    Ol'    MV    TJEE 

He  had  u  certain  influence  over  me  and  1  willin<,dy  obeyed  him. 
My  mother  arrived  a  short  time  before  my  convalescence  and  did 
not  leave  me  again.  As  soon  as  I  could  be  moved  she  took  me  to 
I'aris,  promisinii:  to  send  me  back  to  the  convent  as  soon  as  I  was 
(juite  well. 

It  was  forever,  though,  that  I  had  left  my  dear  convent,  but 
it  was  not  forever  that  I  left  Mother  Ste.  Sophie.  I  seemed  to 
take  something  of  her  away  with  me.  For  a  long  time  she  made 
part  of  my  life  and  even  to-day,  when  she  has  been  dead  for 
years,  the  recollection  of  her  brings  back  to  me  the  simple 
thoughts  of  former  days  and  makes  the  flowers  of  youth  to  bloom 
again. 

Life  for  me  now  began  in  earnest.  Cloister  existence  is  one 
of  unbroken  sameness  for  all.  There  may  be  a  hundred  or  a 
thousand  individuals  there,  but  everyone  lives  a  life  which  is  the 
same  and  the  only  one  for  all.  The  rumor  of  the  outside  world 
dies  away  at  the  heavy  cloister  gate.  The  sole  ambition  is  to  sing 
more  loudly  than  the  others  at  Vespers,  to  take  a  little  more  of 
the  form,  to  be  at  the  end  of  the  table,  to  be  on  the  list  of  honor. 
When  I  was  told  that  I  was  not  to  go  back  to  the  convent,  it  was 
to  me  as  though  I  was  to  be  throw^n  into  the  sea  when  I  could  not 
swim. 

I  besought  my  godfather  to  let  me  go  back.  The  dowry  left 
to  me  by  my  father  was  ample  enough  for  the  dowry  of  a  nun.  I 
wanted  to  take  the  veil. 

*'  Very  well,"  replied  my  godfather,  "you  can  take  the  veil 
in  two  years'  time,  but  not  before.  In  the  mean  time  learn  all 
that  you  do  not  yet  know,  and  that  means  everjrthing,  from  the 
governess  your  mother  has  chosen  for  you." 

That  very  day  an  elderly,  unmarried  lady  with,  soft,  gray, 
gentle  eyes  came  and  took  possession  of  my  life,  my  mind,  and  ray 
conscience  for  eight  hours  every  day.  Her  name  was  Mile.  De 
Brabender  and  she  had  educated  a  grand  duchess  in  Russia. 
She  had  a  sweet  voice,  an  enormous  sandy  mustache,  a  grotesque 
nose,  but  a  way  of  walking,  of  expressing  herself,  and  of  bow- 
ing which  simply  commanded  all  deference.  She  lived  at  the 
convent  in  Rue  Notre  Dame  des  Champs,  and  this  was  why  in 

46 


A    PRANK    AND    ITS    RESULTS 

spite  of  my  mother's  entreaties  she  refused  to  come  and  live 
with  us. 

She  soon  won  my  affection  and  I  learned  quite  easily  with  her 
everything-  that  she  wanted  me  to  learn.  I  worked  eagerly,  for 
my  dream  was  to  return  to  the  convent,  not  as  a  pupil  but  as  a 
teaching  Sister. 


47 


CHAPTER  1\ 


IN   FAMILY   COUNCIL   ASSEMBLED 


^^^^*fn  -^^C)SE  one  September  morning,  my  heart  leaping  with 
t*''*-.^  v^.'Ai  some  remote  joy.  It  was  eight  o'clock.  I  pressed 
(^ '-  ^^^  "^-^  forehead  against  the  windowpanes  and  gazed 
i«?;sMivs=cJ  (,^|.^  looking  at  I  know  not  what.  I  had  been  roused 
with  a  start  in  the  midst  of  some  fine  dream,  and  I  had  rushed 
toward  the  light  in  the  hope  of  finding  in  the  infinite  space  of  the 
gray  sky  the  luminous  point  that  would  explain  my  anxious  and 
blissful  expectation.  Expectation  of  what?  I  could  not  have 
answered  that  question  then,  any  more  than  I  can  now,  after 
much  reflection.  I  was  on  the  eve  of  my  fifteenth  birthday  and 
I  was  in  a  state  of  expectation  as  to  the  future  of  my  life.  That 
particular  morning  seemed  to  me  to  be  the  precursor  of  a  new 
era.  I  was  not  mistaken,  for  on  that  September  day  my  fate  was 
settled  for  me. 

Hypnotized  by  what  was  taking  place  in  my  mind,  I  remained 
with  my  forehead  pressed  against  the  windowpane,  gazing, 
through  the  halo  of  vapor  formed  by  my  breath,  at  houses,  pal- 
aces, carriages,  jcAvels,  and  pearls  passing  along  in  front  of  me. 
Oh,  what  a  number  of  pearls  there  Avere !  There  were  princes 
and  kings,  too;  yes,  I  could  even  see  kings!  Oh,  how  fast  one's 
imagination  travels,  and  its  enemy,  reason,  always  allows  it  to 
roam  on  alone !  In  my  fancy,  I  proudly  rejected  the  princes,  I 
rejected  the  kings,  refused  the  pearls  and  the  palaces,  and  de- 
clared that  I  was  going  to  be  a  nun,  for  in  the  infinite  gray  sky 
I  liad  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  convent  of  Grandchamps,  of  my 
white  bedroom,  and  of  the  small  lamp  that  swung  to  and  fro 

48 


IN    FAMILY    COUNCIL    ASSEMBLED 

above  the  little  Virgin  all  decorated  with  flowers.  The  king 
offered  me  a  throne,  but  I  preferred  the  throne  of  our  Mother 
Superior,  and  I  entertained  a  vague  ambition  to  occupy  it  some 
far-off  day  in  the  distant  future ;  the  king  was  heartbroken,  and 
dying  of  despair.  Yes,  mon  Dieu !  I  preferred  to  the  pearls  that 
were  offered  me  by  princes  the  pearls  of  the  rosary  I  was  telling 
with  my  fingers,  and  no  costume  could  compete  in  my  mind  with 
the  black  barege  veil  that  fell  like  a  soft  shadow  over  the  snowy 
white  cambric  that  encircled  the  beloved  faces  of  the  nuns  of 
Grandchamps. 

I  do  not  know  how  long  I  had  been  dreaming  thus  when  I 
heard  my  mother's  voice  asking  our  old  servant.  Marguerite,  if 
I  were  awake.  With  one  bound  I  was  back  in  bed,  and  I  buried 
my  face  under  the  sheet.  Mamma  half-opened  the  door  very 
gently  and  I  pretended  to  wake  up. 

*'  How  lazy  you  are  to-day!  "  she  said. 

I  kissed  her  and  answered  in  a  coaxing  tone : 

* '  It  is  Thursday  and  I  have  no  music  lesson. ' ' 

"  And  are  you  glad?  "  she  asked. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  I  replied  promptly. 

My  mother  frowned ;  she  adored  music,  and  I  hated  the  piano. 
She  was  so  fond  of  music,  that  altliough  she  was  then  about 
thirty,  she  took  lessons  herself  in  order  to  encourage  me  to  prac- 
tice. What  horrible  torture  it  was!  I  used,  very  wickedly,  to 
do  my  utmost  to  set  my  mother  and  my  music  mistress  at  vari- 
ance. They  were  both  of  them  as  shortsighted  as  possible. 
When  my  mother  had  practiced  a  new  piece  three  or  four  days 
she  knew  it  by  heart,  and  played  it  fairly  well,  to  the  astonish- 
ment of  Mile.  Clarisse,  my  insufferable  old  teacher,  who  held  the 
music  in  her  hand  and  read  every  note  with  her  nose  nearly 
touching  the  page.  One  day  I  heard  with  joy  a  quarrel  be- 
ginning between  mamma  and  this  disagreeable  Mile.  Clarisse. 

"  There,  that's  a  quaver!  " 

'  *  No,  there 's  no  quaver !  ' ' 

"  This  is  a  flat!  " 

' '  No,  you  forget  the  sharp !     How  absurd  you  are,  made- 
moiselle," added  my  mother,  perfectly  furious. 
5  49 


MEMORIES    OF    MY    LIFE 

A  few  minutes  later  my  motlicr  went  to  her  room  and  Mile. 
C'larisse  departed,  muttering  as  she  left. 

As  for  me,  I  was  choking  with  laughter  in  my  bedroom,  for 
one  of  my  cousins,  who  was  a  good  musician,  had  helped  me  to 
add  sharps,  flats,  and  quavers,  and  we  had  done  it  with  such  care 
that  even  a  trained  eye  would  have  had  difficulty  in  discerning 
the  fraud  immediately.  As  Mile.  Clarisse  had  been  sent  off,  I 
had  no  lesson  that  day.  Mamma  gazed  at  me  a  long  time  with 
her  mysterious  eyes,  the  most  beautiful  eyes  I  have  ever  seen  in 
my  life,  and  then  she  said,  speaking  very  slowly : 

"  After  luncheon  there  is  to  be  a  family  council." 

I  felt  myself  turning  pale. 

"  All  right,"  I  answered,  "  what  frock  am  I  to  put  on, 
mamma?"  I  said  this  merely  for  the  sake  of  saying  something, 
and  to  keep  myself  from  crying, 

' '  Put  your  blue  silk  on,  you  look  more  staid  in  that. ' ' 

Just  at  this  moment,  my  sister  Jeanne  opened  the  door  bois- 
terously and  with  a  burst  of  laughter  jumped  on  my  bed  and 
slipping  under  the  sheets  called  out:     "I'm  there!  " 

]\Iarguerite  had  followed  her  into  the  room,  panting  and 
scolding.  The  child  had  escaped  from  her  just  as  she  was  about 
to  bathe  her  and  had  announced  that  she  was  going  into  my  bed. 
Jeanne's  mirth  at  this  moment,  which  I  felt  was  a  very  serious 
one  for  me,  made  me  burst  out  crying  and  sobbing.  My  mother, 
not  understanding  the  reason  of  this  grief,  shrugged  her  shoul- 
ders, told  IMarguerite  to  fetch  Jeanne's  slippers,  and  taking  the 
little  bare  feet  in  her  hands,  kissed  them  tenderly. 

I  sobbed  more  bitterly  than  ever.  It  was  very  evident  that 
mamma  loved  my  sister  more  than  me,  and  this  preference,  which 
did  not  trouble  me  ordinarily,  hurt  me  sorely  now. 

IMamma  went  away  quite  out  of  patience  with  me.  I  fell 
asleep,  in  order  to  forget,  and  was  roused  by  ]\rarguerite  who 
helped  me  to  dress,  as  otherwise  I  should  have  been  late  for 
luncheon.  The  guests  that  day  were  Aunt  Rosine,  IMlle.  De  Bra- 
bender,  my  governess,  a  charming  creature  whom  I  have  always 
regretted,  my  godfather,  and  the  Due  de  INIorny,  a  great  friend 
of  my  godfather  and  of  my  mother.     The  luncheon  was  a  mourn- 

50 


IN    FAMILY    COUNCIL    ASSEMBLED 

ful  meal  for  me,  as  I  was  thinking  all  the  time  about  the  family 
council.  Mile.  De  Brabender,  in  her  gentle  way,  and  with  her 
affectionate  words,  insisted  on  my  eating.  ]\Iy  sister  burst  out 
laughing  when  she  looked  at  me. 

"  Your  eyes  are  as  little  as  that,"  she  said,  putting  her  small 
thumb  on  the  tip  of  her  forefinger,  '  *  and  it  serves  you  right,  be- 
cause you  've  been  crying,  and  mamma  doesn  't  like  anyone  to  cry 
— do  you,  mamma  ?  ' ' 

"  What  have  you  been  crying  about?  "  asked  the  Due  de 
Morny. 

I  did  not  answer  in  spite  of  the  friendly  nudge  Mile.  De  Bra- 
bender  gave  me  with  her  sharp  elbow.  The  Due  de  ]\Iorny 
always  awed  me  a  little.  He  was  gentle  and  kind  but  he  was  a 
great  quiz.  I  knew,  too,  that  he  occupied  a  high  place  at  court, 
and  that  my  family  considered  his  friendship  a  great  honor. 

"  Because  I  told  her  that  after  luncheon  there  was  to  be  a 
family  council  on  her  behalf,"  said  my  mother,  speaking  slowly. 
"  At  times  it  seems  to  me  that  she  is  quite  idiotic.  She  quite  dis- 
heartens me." 

"  Come,  come!  "  exclaimed  my  godfather,  and  Aunt  Rosine 
said  something  in  English  to  the  Due  de  Morny  which  made  him 
smile  shrewdly  under  his  fine  mus-tache.  ]\Ille.  De  Brabender 
scolded  me  in  a  low  voice,  and  her  scoldings  were  like  words  from 
heaven.  When  at  last  luncheon  was  over,  mamma  told  me,  as 
she  passed,  to  pour  the  coffee.     Marguerite  helped  me  to  arrange 

the  cups  and  I  went  into  the  drawing-room.    Maitre  G ,  the 

notary  from  Havre,  whom  I  detested,  was  already  there.  He 
represented  the  family  of  my  father,  who  had  died  at  Pisa  in  a 
way  which  had  never  been  explained,  but  which  seemed  myster- 
ious. My  childish  hatred  was  instinctive  and  I  learned  later 
on  that  this  man  had  been  my  father's  bitter  enemy.  He  was 
very,  very  ugly,  this  notary ;  his  whole  face  seemed  to  have  moved 
up  higher.  It  was  as  though  he  had  been  hanging  by  his  hair  for 
a  long  time,  and  his  eyes,  his  mouth,  his  cheeks,  and  his  nose  had 
got  into  the  habit  of  trying  to  reach  the  back  of  his  head.  He 
ought  to  have  had  a  joyful  expression,  as  so  many  of  his  features 
turned  up,  but  instead  of  this  his  face  was  smooth  and  sinister- 

51 


MEMORIES    OF    MY    LIFE 

looking:,  lie  had  I'cd  liaii-  jjlanlcd  on  liis  In.'ad  like  couch  grass 
and  on  his  nose  he  wore  a  pair  ol'  ^'old-riiiirncd  spectacles.  Oh, 
the  horrible  man  !  What  a  torturinj^  nightmare  the  very  memory 
of  him  is,  for  he  was  the  evil  genius  of  my  father,  and  his  hatred 
now  pursued  me.  My  poor  grandmother,  since  the  death  of  my 
father,  never  went  out,  but  spent  her  time  mourning  the  loss  of 
her  beloved  son  who  had  died  so  young.  She  had  absolute  faith 
in  this  man,  who,  besides,  was  the  executor  of  my  father's  will. 
He  had  the  control  of  the  money  that  my  dear  father  had  left 
me.  I  was  not  to  touch  it  until  the  day  of  my  marriage,  but  my 
mother  was  to  use  the  interest  for  my  education. 

My  uncle  Felix  Faure  was  also  there.  Seated  near  the  fire- 
place, buried  in  an  armchair,  M.  IMeydieu  pulled  out  his  watch 
in  a  querulous  way.  He  was  an  old  friend  of  the  family,  and  he 
always  called  me  "  ma  fille/^  which  annoyed  me  greatly,  as  did 
his  familiarity.  He  considered  me  stupid,  and  when  I  handed 
him  his  coffee,  he  said  in  a  jeering  tone : 

"  And  is  it  for  you,  ma  fille,  that  so  many  honest  people  have 
been  hindered  in  their  work  ?  AYe  have  plenty  of  other  things  to 
attend  to,  I  can  assure  you,  than  to  discuss  the  fate  of  a  little  brat 
like  you.  Ah,  if  it  had  been  her  sister,  there  would  have  been  no 
difficulty !  ' '  and  with  his  benumbed  fingers  he  patted  Jeanne 's 
head  as  she  remained  on  the  floor  plaiting  the  fringe  of  the  sofa 
upon  which  he  was  seated. 

AYhen  the  coffee  was  taken,  the  cups  carried  away,  and  my 
sister  also,  there  was  a  short  silence.  The  Due  de  Morny  rose 
to  take  his  leave,  but  my  mother  begged  him  to  stay.  "  You 
will  be  able  to  advise  us,"  she  urged,  and  the  duke  took  his  seat 
again  near  my  aunt  with  whom  it  seemed  to  me  he  was  carrying 
on  a  slight  flirtation. 

]\Iamma  had  moved  nearer  to  the  window,  her  embroidery 
frame  in  front  of  her,  and  her  beautiful,  clear-cut  profile  show- 
ing to  advantage  against  the  light.  She  looked  as  though  she 
had  nothing  to  do  with  what  was  about  to  be  discussed.  The 
hideous  notary  was  standing  up  by  the  chimney-piece,  and  my 
uncle  had  drawn  me  near  to  him.  ]\Ty  godfather  Regis  seemed 
to  be  the  exact  counterpart  of  INI.  IMeydieu.     They  both  of  them 

52 


IN    FAMILY    COUNCIL    ASSEJNIBLED 

ihad  the  same  bourgeois  mind  and  were  equally  stubborn  and 
obstinate.  They  were  both  devoted  to  whist  and  good  wine,  and 
they  both  agreed  that  I  was  thin  enough  for  a  scarecrow. 

The  door  opened  and  a  pale,  dark-haired  woman  entered,  a 
most  poetical-looking  and  charming  creature.  It  was  Mme. 
Guerard,  "  the  lady  of  the  upstairs  fiat,"  as  Marguerite  always 
called  her.  My  mother  had  made  friends  with  her  in  rather  a 
patronizing  way  certainly,  but  Mme.  Guerard  was  devoted  to  me 
and  endured  the  little  slights  to  which  she  was  treated,  very 
patiently,  for  my  sake.  She  was  tall  and  slender  as  a  lath,  very 
compliant  and  demure.  She  had  come  down  without  a  hat;  she 
was  wearing  an  indoor  gown  of  indienne  with  a  design  of  little 
brown  leaves. 

]\I.  Meydieu  muttered  something,  I  did  not  catch  what.  The 
abominable  notary  made  a  very  curt  bow  to  Mme.  Guerard. 
The  Due  d«  Morny  was  very  gracious,  for  the  newcomer  was 
so  pretty.  My  godfather  merely  bent  his  head,  as  Mme.  Gue- 
rard was  nothing  to  him.  Aunt  Rosine  glanced  at  her  from 
head  to  foot.  Mile,  De  Brabender  shook  hands  cordially  with 
her,  for  Mme.  Guerard  was  fond  of  me.  My  uncle,  Felix  Faure, 
gave  her  a  chair,  and  asked  her  to  sit  down,  and  then  inquired  in 
a  kindly  way  about  her  husband,  a  savant,  with  whom  my  uncle 
collaborated  sometimes  for  his  book,  "  The  Life  of  St.  Louis." 

Mamma  had  merely  glanced  across  the  room  without  raising 
her  head,  for  Mme.  Guerard  did  not  prefer  my  sister  to  me. 

' '  Well,  as  we  have  come  here  on  account  of  this  child, ' '  said 
my  godfather,  "  we  must  begin  and  discuss  what  is  to  be  done 
with  her." 

I  began  to  tremble  and  drew  closer  to  Mile.  De  Brabender, 
and  to  "  ma  petite  dame,"  as  I  had  always  called  Mme.  Guerard 
from  my  infancy.  They  each  took  my  hand  by  way  of  en- 
couraging me. 

' '  Yes, ' '  continued  M.  Meydieu,  with  a  laugh,  ' '  it  appears 
you  want  to  be  a  nun." 

"  Ah,  indeed?  "  said  the  Due  de  Morny  to  Aunt  Rosine. 

*'  Sh.  ..."  she  retorted  with  a  laugh.  Mamma  sighed  and 
held  her  wools  up  close  to  her  eyes  to  match  them. 

53 


mp:m()IUi:s  of  ^I^    life 

"  Yon  liiivc  1()  l)('  ficli,  tlioiiH^li,  lo  ciitci"  ;i  ('(tiivciit, "  grunted 
the  Havre  notary,  "  and  you  liavc  not  a  sou." 

I  leaned  toward  Mile.  De  Brabeiider,  and  whispered:  "I 
have  Die  money  that  papa  left." 

The  hoi'i-id  num  overheard. 

"  Your  lathei-  left  some  money  to  get  you  married,"  he  said. 

"  Well,  then,  I'll  mari-y  the  i>OH  Di'ew,"  I  answered,  and  my 
voice  was  (piitc  resolute  now.  I  turned  very  red,  and  for  the 
second  time  in  my  life  I  felt  a  desire  and  a  strong  inclination  to 
fight  for  myself.  I  had  no  more  fear,  as  everyone  had  gone  too 
far  and  provoked  nie  too  nuich.  I  slipped  away  from  my  two 
kind  friends,  and  advanced  toward  the  other  group. 

"  I  will  be  a  nun,  I  will !  "  I  exclaimed.  "  I  know  that  papa 
left  me  some  money  so  that  I  should  be  married,  and  I  know  that 
the  nuns  marry  the  Saviour.  ]\Iamma  says  she  does  not  care ;  it  is 
all  the  same  to  her,  so  that  it  won't  be  vexing  her  at  all,  and  they 
love  me  better  at  the  convent  than  you  do  here !  ' ' 

**  My  dear  child,"  said  my  uncle,  drawing  me  toward  him, 
"  your  religious  vocation  appears  to  me  to  be  more  a  wish  to 
love." 

"  And  to  be  loved,"  murmured  Mme.  Guerard,  in  a  very  low 
voice. 

Everyone  glanced  at  mamma,  who  shrugged  her  shoulders 
slightly.  It  seemed  to  me  as  though  the  glance  they  all  gave  her 
was  a  reproachful  one,  and  I  felt  a  pang  of  remorse  at  once.  I 
went  across  to  her,  and  throwing  my  arms  round  her  neck  said : 

'  *  You  don 't  mind  my  being  a  nun,  do  you  ?  It  won 't  make 
you  unhappy,  will  it?  " 

Mamma  stroked  my  hair,  of  which  she  was  very  proud. 

* '  Y'es,  it  would  make  me  unhappy.  You  know  very  well  that 
after  your  sister,  I  love  you  better  than  anyone  else  in  the  world. " 

She  said  this  very  slowly  in  a  gentle  voice.  It  was  like  the 
sound  of  a  little  waterfall  as  it  flows  down,  babbling  and  clear, 
from  the  mountain,  dragging  with  it  the  gravel,  and  gradually 
increasing  in  volume,  with  the  thawed  snow,  until  it  sweeps  along 
rocks  and  trees  in  its  course.  This  was  the  eft'ect  my  mother's 
clear,  drawling  voice  had  upon  me  at  that  moment.     I  rushed 

54 


IN    FAMILY    COUNCIL    ASSEMBLED 

back  impulsively  to  the  others,  who  were  all  speechless  at  this 
unexpected  and  spontaneous  burst  of  confidence.  I  went  from 
one  to  the  other,  explaining  my  decision,  and  giving  reasons 
which  were  certainly  no  reasons  at  all.  I  did  my  utmost  to  get 
someone  to  support  me  in  the  matter.  Finally  the  Due  de  Morny 
was  bored,  and  rose  to  go. 

"  Do  you  know  what  you  ought  to  do  with  this  child?  "  he 
said.  "  You  ought  to  send  her  to  the  Conservatoire."  He  then 
patted  my  cheek,  kissed  my  aunt's  hand,  and  bowed  to  all  the 
others.  As  he  bent  over  my  mother's  hand,  I  heard  him  say  to 
her:  "  You  would  have  made  a  bad  diplomatist,  but  take  my 
advice,  and  send  her  to  the  Conservatoire." 

He  then  took  his  departure  and  I  gazed  at  everyone  in  perfect 
anguish. 

The  Conservatoire  !     What  was  it  ?    What  did  it  mean  1 

I  went  up  to  my  governess,  Mile.  De  Brabender.  Her  lips 
were  firmly  pressed  together,  and  she  looked  shocked,  just  as  she 
did  sometimes  when  my  godfather  told  some  story  that  she  did 
not  approve  of,  at  table.  My  uncle,  Felix  Faure,  was  looking  at 
the  floor  in  an  absent-minded  way ;  the  notary  had  a  spiteful  look 
in  his  eyes,  my  aunt  was  holding  forth  in  a  very  excited  manner, 
and  M.  Meydieu  kept  shaking  his  head  and  muttering:  "  Per- 
haps .  .  .  yes.  .  .  .  Who  knows  1  .  .  .  Hum  .  .  .  hum  .  .  . !  " 
Mme.  Guerard  was  very  pale  and  sad,  and  she  looked  at  me  with 
infinite  tenderness. 

What  could  be  this  Conservatoire  1  The  word  uttered  so  care- 
lessly seemed  to  have  entirely  disturbed  the  equanimity  of  all 
present.  Each  one  of  them  seemed  to  me  to  have  a  different  im- 
pression about  it,  but  none  looked  pleased.  Suddenly  in  the 
midst  of  the  general  embarrassment  my  godfather  exclaimed 
brutally : 

''  She  is  too  thin  to  make  an  actress." 

"  I  won't  be  an  actress!  "  I  exclaimed. 

"  You  don't  know  what  an  actress  is,"  said  my  aunt. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  do.     Rachel  is  an  actress!  " 

"  You  know  RacheH  "  asked  mamma,  getting  up. 

"Oh,  yes,  she  came  to  the  convent  once,  to  see  little  Adele 

55 


Ml^AIOUIKS    OF    MY     LIIF. 

Sarony.  She  went  all  over  the  convent  and  into  tho  trarden,  and 
slu'  liad  to  sit  down  because  she  could  not  get  her  breath.  They 
fetched  her  something  to  bring  her  round,  and  she  was  so  pale, 
oh,  so  pale!  I  was  very  sorry  for  her  and  Sister  Appoline  told 
nie  that  wliat  she  did  was  killing  her,  for  she  was  an  actress,  and 
so  I  won 't  be  an  actress,  I  won 't. ' ' 

I  had  said  all  this  in  a  breath,  Avith  my  cheeks  on  fire  and  my 
voice  liard. 

I  remembered  all  that  Sister  Appoline  had  told  me,  and 
^lother  Ste.  Sophie,  too.  I  remembered,  also,  that  when  Rachel 
had  gone  out  of  the  garden,  looking  very  pale,  and  holding  a 
lady's  arm  for  support,  a  little  girl  had  put  her  tongue  out  at 
her.  I  did  not  want  people  to  put  out  their  tongues  at  me  when 
I  was  grown  up. 

Conservatoire\  That  word  alarmed  me.  The  duke  had 
wanted  me  to  be  an  actress  and  he  had  now  gone  away  so  that  I 
could  not  talk  things  over  w^th  him.  He  went  away  smiling  and 
tranquil,  after  caressing  me  in  the  usual  friendly  way.  He  had 
gone — caring  little  about  the  scraggy  child  whose  future  had 
been  discussed. 

' '  Send  her  to  the  Conservatoire !  ' ' 

That  sentence  uttered  so  carelessly  had  come  like  a  bomb  into 
my  life.  I,  the  dreamy  child,  who  that  morning  was  ready  to 
repulse  princes  and  kings;  I,  whose  trembling  fingers  had  that 
morning  told  over  ehaplets  of  dreams,  who  only  a  few  hours  ago 
had  felt  my  heart  beating  with  emotion  hitherto  unknown  to  me ; 
I,  Avho  had  got  up  expecting  some  great  event  to  take  place,  was 
to  see  everj'thing  disappear,  thanks  to  that  phrase  as  heavy  as 
lead  and  as  deadly  as  a  bullet :  "Send  her  to  the  Conservatoire !  " 

And  I  divined  that  this  phrase  was  to  be  the  signpost  of  my 
life.  All  those  people  had  gathered  together  at  the  turning  of 
the  crossroads.  "  Send  her  to  the  Conservatoire  I  "  I  wanted 
to  be  a  nun  and  this  was  considered  absurd,  idiotic,  unreasonable. 
"  Send  her  to  the  Conservatoire  "  had  opened  out  a  field  for  dis- 
cussion, the  horizon  of  the  future.  My  uncle,  Felix  Faure,  and 
Mile.  Brabender  were  the  only  ones  against  this  idea.  They 
tried  in  vain  to  make  my  mother  understand  that  with  the 

56 


IN    FAMILY    COUNCIL    ASSEMBLED 

hundred  thousand  francs  that  my  father  had  left  me  I  might 
marry.  But  my  mother  had  replied  that  I  had  declared  I  had 
a  horror  of  marriage,  and  tJiat  I  should  wait  until  I  was  of  age 
to  go  into  a  convent. 

"  Under  these  conditions,"  she  said,  "  Sarah  will  never  have 
her  father's  money." 

"  No,  certainly  not,"  put  in  the  notary. 

"  Then,"  continued  my  mother,  "  she  would  enter  the  con- 
vent as  a  servant  and  I  will  not  have  that !  My  money  is  an 
annuity,  so  that  I  cannot  leave  anything  to  my  children.  I, 
therefore,  want  them  to  have  a  career  of  their  own. ' '  My  mother 
was  now  exhausted  w^ith  so  much  talking  and  lay  back  in  an 
armchair.  I  got  very  much  excited  and  my  mother  asked  me  to 
go  away. 

Mile.  Brabender  and  Mme.  Guerard  were  arguing  in  a  low 
voice,  and  I  thought  of  the  aristocratic  man  who  had  just  left  us. 
I  was  very  angry  with  him,  for  this  idea  of  the  Conservatoire  was 
his. 

Mile.  Brabender  tried  to  console  me.  Mme.  Guerard  said 
that  this  career  had  its  advantages.  Mile.  Brabender  considered 
that  the  convent  would  have  a  great  fascination  for  so  dreamy  a 
nature  as  mine.  The  latter  was  very  religious  and  a  great 
churchgoer;  "  ma  petite  dame,'"  Avas  a  pagan  in  the  purest  ac- 
ceptation of  that  word,  and  yet  the  two  women  got  on  very  well 
together,  thanks  to  their  affectionate  devotion  to  me. 

Mme.  Guerard  adored  the  proud  rebelliousness  of  my  nature, 
my  pretty  face,  and  the  slenderness  of  my  figure ;  Mile.  De 
Brabender  was  touched  by  my  delicate  health.  She  endeavored 
to  comfort  me  when  I  was  jealous  for  not  being  loved  as  much 
as  my  sister,  but  what  she  liked  best  about  me  was  my  voice.  She 
always  declared  that  my  voice  Avas  modulated  for  prayers  and 
my  delight  in  the  convent  appeared  to  her  quite  natural.  She 
loved  me  with  a  gentle,  pious  affection,  and  Mme.  Guerard  loved 
me  with  bursts  of  paganism.  These  two  women,  whose  memory 
is  still  dear  to  me,  shared  me  between  them  and  made  the  best  of 
my  good  qualities  and  my  faults.  I  certainly  owe  to  both  of 
them  this  study  of  myself  and  the  vision  I  have  of  myself. 

57 


MKMORIES    Ol'    MV    LIFE 

'I'lic  (lay  was  dcstinod  to  cud  in  llic  stranpcst  of  fashions. 
Mnio.  (iiic'rard  had  fjjone  back  lo  Ikt  aj)artiii('nt  upstairs  and  I 
was  lyinfj  on  a  little  straw  armchair  which  was  the  most  or- 
namental piece  of  furniture  in  my  room.  I  felt  very  drowsy  and 
was  holdinfr  IMlle.  De  Brabender's  hand  in  mine,  when  thi'  door 
opened  and  my  aunt  entered,  followed  by  my  mother.  I  can  s<'(' 
them  now,  my  aunt  in  her  dress  of  puce  silk  trimmed  with  fur, 
her  brown  velvet  hat  tied  under  her  chin  with  louj^:,  wide  strini^^rs, 
and  mannna,  who  had  taken  off  her  dress  and  put  on  a  white 
woolen  dressing:  gown.  She  always  detested  keeping  on  her  dress 
in  the  house,  and  I  understood  by  her  change  of  costume  that 
everyone  else  had  gone,  and  that  my  aunt  was  ready  to  leave.  I 
got  up  from  my  armchair,  but  mamma  made  me  sit  down  again. 

"  Rest  yourself  thoroughly,"  she  said,  "  for  we  are  going  to 
take  you  to  the  theater  this  evening,  to  the  Frangais."  I  felt 
sure  that  this  was  just  a  bait  and  I  would  not  show  any  sign  of 
pleasure,  although  in  my  heart  I  w^as  delighted  at  the  idea  of 
going  to  the  Frangais.  The  only  theater  I  knew  anything  of  was 
the  Robert  Iloudin,  to  which  I  was  taken  sometimes  with  my 
sister,  and  I  fancy  that  it  was  for  her  benefit  we  went  as  I  was 
really  too  old  to  care  for  that  kind  of  performance. 

"  Will  you  come  with  us?  "  mamma  said,  turning  to  Mile. 
De  Brabender. 

"  Willingly,  madame,"  replied  this  dear  creatui'c.  "  I  will 
go  home  and  change  my  dress. 

My  aunt  laughed  at  my  sullen  looks. 

"  Little  fraud,"  she  said,  as  she  went  away,  "  you  are  hiding 
.your  delight.     Ah,  well,  you  will  see  some  actresses  to-night!  " 

' '  Is  Rachel  going  to  act  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Oh,  no,  she  is  ill." 

My  aunt  kissed  me  and  went  away,  saying  she  would  see  me 
again  later  on,  and  my  mother  followed  her  out  of  the  room. 
Mile.  De  Brabender  then  hurriedly  prepared  to  leave  me.  She 
had  to  go  home  to  dress  and  to  tell  them  that  she  would  not  be 
in  until  quite  late,  for,  in  her  convent,  special  permission  had  to 
be  obtained  when  one  wished  to  be  out  later  than  ten  at  night. 
When  I  w^as  alone  I  swung  myself  backward  and  forward  in  my 

58 


IN    FAMILY    COUNCIL    ASSEMBLED 

armchair  which,  by  the  way,  was  anything  but  a  rocking-chair. 
I  began  to  think,  and  for  the  first  time  in  my  life  my  critical  com- 
prehension came  to  my  aid.  And  so  all  these  serious  people 
had  been  inconvenienced,  the  notary  fetched  from  Havre,  my 
uncle  dragged  away  from  working  at  his  book,  the  old  bachelor, 
M.  Meydieu,  disturbed  in  his  habits  and  customs,  my  godfather 
kept  away  from  the  Stock  Exchange,  and  that  aristocratic  and 
skeptical  Due  de  Morny  cramped  up  for  two  hours  in  the  midst 
of  our  bourgeois  surroundings,  and  all  to  end  in  this  decision: 
"  She  shall  be  taken  to  the  theater!  "  I  do  not  know  what  part 
my  uncle  had  taken  in  this  burlesque  plan,  but  I  doubt  whether 
it  was  to  his  taste.  All  the  same,  I  was  glad  to  go  to  the  theater ; 
it  made  me  feel  more  important.  That  morning  on  waking  up  I 
was  quite  a  child,  and  now  events  had  taken  place  which  had 
transformed  me  into  a  young  girl.  I  had  been  discussed  by 
everyone,  and  I  had  expressed  my  wishes,  without  any  result, 
certainly,  but  all  the  same  I  had  expressed  them,  and  now  it  was 
deemed  necessary  to  humor  and  indulge  me  in  order  to  win  me 
over.  They  could  not  force  me  into  agreeing  to  what  they 
wanted  me  to  do ;  my  consent  was  necessary,  and  I  felt  so  joyful 
and  so  proud  about  it  that  I  was  quite  touched  and  almost  ready 
to  yield.  However,  I  said  to  myself  that  it  would  be  better  to 
hold  my  own  and  let  them  ask  me  again. 

After  dinner  we  all  squeezed  into  a  cab — mamma,  my  god- 
father, Mile.  De  Brabender,  and  I.  My  godfather  made  me  a 
present  of  some  white  gloves. 

On  mounting  the  steps  at  the  Theatre  Francais  I  trod  on  a 
lady 's  dress.  She  turned  round  and  called  me  a  "  stupid  child. ' ' 
I  moved  back  hastily  and  came  into  collision  with  a  very  stout 
old  gentleman  who  gave  me  a  rough  push  forward. 

When  once  we  were  all  installed  in  a  box  facing  the  stage, 
mamma  and  I  in  the  first  row  with  Mile.  De  Brabender  behind  me, 
I  felt  more  reassured.  I  was  close  against  the  partition  of  the 
box,  and  I  could  feel  Mile.  De  Brabender 's  sharp  knees  through 
the  velvet  of  my  chair.  This  gave  me  confidence,  and  I  leaned 
against  the  back  of  the  chair,  purposely  to  feel  the  support  of 
those  two  knees. 

59 


ME.MORIIOS    or    MY    LIFE 

When  Ihc  curtain  slowly  roso,  I  thought  I  should  have  fainted. 
It  was  as  though  the  curtain  of  my  future  life  were  being  raised. 
Those  columns — "  Britannicus  "  was  being  played — were  to  be 
my  palaces,  the  friezes  above  were  to  be  my  skies,  and  those 
boards  were  to  bend  under  my  frail  weight.  I  heard  nothing 
of  "  Britannicus,"  for  I  was  far,  far  away,  at  Grandchamps  in 
my  dormitory  there. 

"  Well,  what  do  you  think  of  it?  "  asked  my  godfather,  when 
the  curtain  fell.  I  did  not  answer  and  he  laid  his  hand  on  my 
head  and  turned  my  face  round  toward  him.  I  was  crying,  big 
tears  rolling  slowly  down  my  cheeks,  those  tears  that  come  with- 
out any  sobs  and  without  any  hope  of  ever  ceasing. 

jNIy  godfather  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  getting  up,  left 
the  box,  banging  the  door  after  him.  IMamma,  losing  all  patience 
with  me,  proceeded  to  review  the  house  through  her  opera  glass, 
]\Ille.  De  Brabender  passed  me  her  handkerchief;  my  own  had 
fallen  down  and  I  had  not  the  courage  to  pick  it  up. 

The  curtain  had  been  raised  for  the  second  piece,  "  Am- 
phytrion,"  and  I  made  an  effort  to  listen,  for  the  sake  of  pleas- 
ing my  governess,  who  was  so  gentle  and  conciliating.  I  can 
only  remember  one  thing,  and  that  is  that  Alcincne  seemed  to  me 
to  be  so  unhappy  that  I  burst  into  loud  sobs,  and  that  the  whole 
house,  very  much  amused,  looked  at  our  box.  My  mother,  deeply 
annoyed,  took  me  out,  and  I\Ille.  De  Brabender  went  with  us. 
My  godfather  was  furious,  and  muttered:  "  She  ought  to  be 
shut  up  in  a  convent  and  left  there!  Good  Heavens,  what  a 
little  idiot  the  child  is!  " 

This  was  the  debut  of  my  artistic  life ! 


60 


CHAPTER   V 


I   RECITE         THE    TWO    PIGEONS 


WAS  beginning  to  think,  though,  of  my  new  career. 
Books  were  sent  to  me  from  everywhere:  Racine, 
Corneille,  Moliere,  Casimir  Delavigne.  ...  I  opened 
them,  but  as  I  did  not  understand  them  at  all,  I 
quickly  closed  them  again,  and  read  my  little  La  Fontaine,  which 
I  loved  passionately.  I  knew  all  his  fables,  and  one  of  my 
delights  was  to  make  a  bet  with  my  godfather  or  with  M.  IMey- 
dieu,  our  learned  and  tiresome  friend,  I  used  to  bet  that  they 
would  not  recognize  all  the  fables,  if  I  began  with  the  last  verse 
and  went  backward  to  the  first  one,  and  I  often  won  the  bet. 

A  line  from  my  aunt  arrived  one  day,  telling  my  mother 
that  M.  Auber,  who  was  then  Director  of  the  Conservatoire, 
was  expecting  us  the  next  day  at  nine  in  the  morning.  I  was 
about  to  put  my  foot  in  the  stirrup.  My  mother  sent  me  with 
Mme.  Guerard.  LI.  Auber  received  us  very  affably,  as  the  Due 
de  Morny  had  spoken  to  him  of  me.  I  was  very  much  impressed 
by  him,  with  his  refined  face  and  white  hair,  his  ivory  com- 
plexion and  magnificent  black  eyes,  his  fragile  and  distinguished 
look,  his  melodious  voice  and  the  celebrity  of  his  name.  I 
scarcely  dared  answer  his  questions.  He  spoke  to  me  very 
gently,  and  told  me  to  sit  down. 

"  You  are  very  fond  of  the  stage?  "  he  began. 

' '  Oh,  no,  monsieur !  "  I  answered. 

This  unexpected  reply  amazed  him.  He  looked  at  Mme. 
Guerard  from  under  his  heavy  eyelids,  and  she  at  once  said : 

"  No,  she  does  not  care  for  the  stage,  but  she  does  not  want 

61 


MEMORIES    OF    MY    LIFE 

to  marry,  and  conscfiiiciitly  slic  will  have  no  money,  as  her 
father  left  her  a  hundred  thousand  frane.s,  which  she  can  only 
have  on  her  wedding  day.  Her  mother,  therefore,  wants  her 
to  have  some  profession,  for  Mine.  Bernhardt  only  has  an  an- 
nuity, a  fairly  good  one,  but  it  is  only  an  annuity,  and  so  she 
will  not  be  able  to  leave  her  dauglders  anythint;.  On  that 
account  she  wants  Sarah  to  become  independent.  Sarah  would 
like  to  enter  a  convent." 

"  But  that  is  not  an  independent  career,  my  child,"  said 
M.  Auber,  slowly.    "  How  old  is  she?  "  he  asked. 

"  Fourteen  and  a  half,"  replied  INIme.  Guerard. 

**  No,"  I  exclaimed,  "I  am  nearly  fifteen." 

The  kind  old  man  smiled. 

"  In  twenty  years  from  now,"  he  said,  "  you  will  insist  less 
about  the  exact  figures,"  and,  evidently  thinking  the  visit  had 
lasted  long  enough,  he  rose. 

"  It  appears,"  he  said  to  Mme.  Guerard,  "  that  this  little 
girl's  mother  is  very  beautiful?  " 

"  Oh,  very  beautiful!  "  she  replied. 

"  You  will  please  express  my  regret  to  her  that  I  have  not 
seen  her,  and  my  thanks  for  having  so  thoughtfully  sent  you." 
He  thereupon  kissed  ]\Ime.  Guerard 's  hand,  and  she  colored 
slightly. 

This  conversation  remained  engraved  on  my  mind.  I  re- 
member every  word  of  it,  every  movement  and  every  gesture  of 
M.  Auber 's,  for  this  little  man,  so  charming  and  so  gentle,  held 
my  future  in  his  transparent-looking  hand.  He  opened  the  door 
for  us  and,  touching  me  on  my  shoulder,  said : 

"  Come,  courage,  little  girl.  Believe  me,  you  will  thank 
your  mother  some  day  for  driving  you  to  it.  Don 't  look  so  sad ; 
life  is  well  worth  beginning,  seriously,  but  gayly." 

I  stammered  out  a  few  words  of  thanks,  and,  just  as  I  was 
making  my  exit,  a  fine-looking  woman  knocked  against  me.  She 
was  heavy  and  extremely  bustling,  though,  and  I\I.  Auber  bent 
his  head  toward  me  and  said  quietly : 

"  Above  all  things  don't  let  yourself  get  stout  like  this 
singer.    Stoutness  is  the  enemy  of  a  woman  and  of  an  artiste." 

62 


I    RECITE    "THE    TWO    PIGEONS" 

The  manservant  was  now  holding  the  door  open  for  us,  and, 
as  M,  Auber  returned  to  his  visitor,  I  heard  him  say: 

"  Well,  ,  .  .  most  ideal  of  women  ..." 

I  went  away  rather  astounded,  and  did  not  say  a  word  in 
the  carriage.  Mme.  Guerard  told  my  mother  about  our  inter- 
view, but  the  latter  did  not  even  let  her  finish,  and  only  said: 
"  Good,  good;  thank  you." 

The  examination  was  to  take  place  a  month  after  this  visit. 
The  difficulty  was  to  choose  a  piece  for  the  examination.  My 
mother  did  not  know  any  theatrical  people.  My  godfather  ad- 
vised me  to  learn  "  Phedre, "  but  Mile.  De  Brabender  objected, 
as  she  thought  it  a  little  offensive,  and  refused  to  help  me  if  I 
chose  that.  ]\I.  Meydieu,  our  old  friend,  wanted  me  to  work  at 
Chimene,  in  "  Le  Cid,"  but  first  he  declared  that  I  clenched 
my  teeth  too  much  for  it.  It  was  quite  true  that  I  did  not 
make  the  0  open  enough,  and  did  not  roll  the  R  sufficiently, 
either.  He  wrote  a  little  notebook  for  me,  which  I  am  copying 
exactly,  as  my  poor,  dear  Guerard  kept  religiously  everything 
concerning  me,  and  she  gave  me,  later  on,  a  quantity  of  papers 
which  are  very  useful  now. 

The  following  are  my  old  friend's  instructions: 

*'  Every  morning  instead  of  do  ...  re  ...  mi  ..  .  prac- 
tice te  .  .  .  de  .  ,  ,  de  .  .  .  in  order  to  learn  to  vibrate  .  ,  . 

'*  Before  breakfast  repeat  forty  times  over:  Un-tres-gros- 
rat-dans-un-tres-gros-trou — in  order  to  vibrate  the  R. 

' '  Before  dinner  repeat  forty  times :  Combien  ces  six  sau- 
cisses-ei?  C'est  six  sous,  ces  six  saucisses-ci.  Six  sous  ces  six 
saucisses-ci  ?  Six  sous  ceux-ci,  six  sous  ceux-ci,  six  sous  ceux-la; 
six  sous  ces  six  saucisses-ci ! — in  order  to  learn  not  to  whizz  the  S. 

"  At  night  when  going  to  bed  repeat  twenty  times:  Didon, 
dina  dit-on  du  dos  d'un  dodu  dindon.  .  .  .  And  twenty  times: 
Le  plus  petit  papa  petit  pipi  petit  popo  petit  pupu.  .  .  .  Open 
the  mouth  square  for  the  D,  and  pout  for  the  P  .  .  ," 

He  gave  this  piece  of  work  quite  seriously  to  Mile,  De  Bra- 
bender,  who  quite  seriously  wanted  me  to  practice  it.  My 
governess  was  charming,  and  I  was  very  fond  of  her,  but  I 

63 


MEMORIES    OF    MY    LIFE 

could  not  help  yelling'  with  laii},'lit<'r  when,  after  making  me  go 
throu^di  lilt'  "  tc  .  .  .  (le  .  .  .  (U*  "  exercise,  which  went  fairly 
well,  and  then  the  "  tres-gros-rat, "  etc.,  she  started  on  the  sau- 
cissfs  (sausa^'es).  Ah,  no,  that  was  a  eaeophony  of  hisses  in  her 
toothless  mouth,  enough  to  make  all  the  dogs  in  Paris  howl !  And 
when  she  began  with  the  "  Didon  "...  accompanied  by  the 
"  plus  [)etit  pjij);i,"  I  thought  my  dear  governess  Mas  losing  her 
reason.  She  half  closed  her  eyes,  her  face  was  red,  her  mastache 
bristled  up,  she  put  on  a  sententious,  hurried  manner,  her  mouth 
widened  out  and  looked  like  the  slit  in  a  money  ])0x,  or  else 
it  was  creased  up  into  a  little  ring,  and  she  purred  and  hissed 
and  chirped  without  ceasing.  I  flung  myself  exhausted  into  my 
wicker-work  chair,  choking  with  laugliter,  and  great  tears  pourc^l 
from  my  eyes.  I  stamped  on  the  floor,  flung  my  arms  out  right 
and  left  until  they  were  useless,  and  rocked  myself  backward 
and  forward,  screaming  with  laughter. 

My  mother,  attracted  by  the  noise  I  was  making,  half  opened 
the  door.  Mile.  De  Brabender  explained  to  her  very  gravely 
that  she  was  showing  me  M.  IMeydieu's  method.  IMy  mother 
expostulated  with  me,  but  I  would  not  listen  to  anything,  as  I 
was  nearly  beside  myself  with  laughter.  She  then  took  Mile. 
De  Brabender  away  and  left  me  alone,  for  she  feared  that  I 
would  finish  with  hysterics.  When  once  I  was  by  myself,  I  be- 
gan to  calm  down.  I  closed  my  eyes  and  thought  of  my  convent 
again.  The  "  te  .  .  .  de  .  .  .  de  "  got  mixed  up  in  my  ener- 
vated brain  with  the  "  Our  Father,"  which  I  used  to  have  to 
repeat  some  days  fifteen  or  twenty  times  as  a  punishment. 
Finally,  I  came  to  myself  again,  got  up,  and,  after  bathing  my 
face  in  cold  water,  went  to  my  mother,  whom  I  found  playing 
whist  with  my  governess  and  godfather,  I  kissed  ]\Ille.  De  Bra- 
bender, and  she  returned  my  kiss  with  such  indulgent  kindness 
that  I  felt  quite  embarrassed  by  it. 

Ten  days  passed  by  and  I  did  none  of  M.  Meydieu's  exer- 
cises, except  the  "  te  .  .  ,  de  .  .  .  de  "  at  the  piano.  My 
mother  came  and  woke  me  every  morning  for  this,  and  it  drove 
me  wild.  My  godfather  made  me  learn  **  Aricie,"  but  I  under- 
stood nothing  of  what  he  told  me  about  the  verses.     He  eon- 

64 


I    RECITE    "THE    TWO    PIGEONS" 

sidered,  and  explained  to  me,  that  poetry  must  be  said  with  an 
intonation,  and  that  the  value  must  only  be  put  on  the  rhyme. 
His  theories  were  boring  to  listen  to  and  impossible  to  execute. 
Then  I  could  not  understand  Aricie's  character,  for  it  did  not 
seem  to  me  that  she  loved  Hippolyte  at  all,  and  she  appeared  to 
me  to  be  a  scheming  flirt.  My  godfather  explained  to  me  that 
in  olden  times  this  was  the  way  people  loved  each  other,  and 
when  I  remarked  that  Phedre  appeared  to  love  in  a  better  way 
than  that,  he  took  me  by  the  chin,  and  said : 

'*  Just  look  at  this  naughty  child.  She  is  pretending  not  to 
understand,  and  would  like  us  to  explain  to  her.  ..." 

This  was  simply  idiotic.  I  did  not  understand,  and  had  not 
asked  anything,  but  this  man  had  a  hourgeais  mind,  and  was 
sly  and  lewd.  He  did  not  like  me  because  I  was  thin,  but  he 
was  interested  in  me  because  I  was  going  to  be  an  actress.  That 
word  evoked  for  him  the  weak  side  of  our  art.  He  did  not  see 
the  beauty,  the  nobleness  of  it,  nor  yet  its  beneficial  power. 

I  could  not  fathom  all  this  at  that  time,  but  I  did  not  feel 
at  ease  with  this  man,  whom  I  had  seen  from  my  childhood,  and 
who  was  almost  like  a  father  to  me.  I  did  not  want  to  continue 
learning  "  Aricie."  In  the  first  place,  I  could  not  talk  about 
it  with  my  governess,  as  she  would  not  discuss  the  piece  at  all. 

I  then  learned  the  "  Ecole  des  Femmes,"  and  Mile.  De  Bra- 
bender  explained  Agnes  to  me.  The  dear,  good  lady  did  not  see 
much  in  it,  for  the  whole  story  appeared  to  her  of  childlike 
simplicity,  and  when  I  said  the  lines:  "  He  has  taken  from  me, 
he  has  taken  from  me  the  ribbon  you  gave  me,"  she  smiled  in 
all  confidence  when  Meydieu  and  my  godfather  laughed  heartily. 

Finally  the  examination  day  arrived.  Everyone  had  given 
me  advice,  but  no  one  any  really  helpful  counsel.  It  had  not 
occurred  to  anyone  that  I  ought  to  have  had  a  professional  to 
prepare  me  for  my  examination.  I  got  up  in  the  morning  with 
a  heavy  heart  and  an  anxious  mind.  My  mother  had  had  a 
black  silk  dress  made  for  me.  It  was  slightly  low-necked,  and 
was  finished  with  a  gathered  bertha.  The  frock  was  rather 
short,  and  showed  my  drawers.  These  were  trimmed  with  em- 
broidery, and  came  down  to  my  brown  kid  boots.  A  white 
6  65 


mi:m()iui:s  of  mv   life 

pnimpo  omor^'t'd  from  my  black  bodice  and  was  fastened  round 
my  tliroat,  which  was  too  sh-ndcr.  My  hair  was  [)arted  ou  my 
forehead,  and  then  fell  as  it  liked,  for  it  was  not  held  by  pins 
or  ribbons.  I  wore  a  large  straw  hat,  although  the  season  was 
rather  advanced.  Everyone  came  to  inspect  my  dress,  and  I 
was  turned  round  and  round  twenty  times  at  least.  I  had  to 
make  my  courtesy  for  everyone  to  see.  Finally  I  seemed  to  give 
general  satisfaction.  ]\Iy  petite  dame  came  downstairs,  with 
her  grave  husband,  and  kissed  me.  She  was  deeply  affected. 
Our  old  INIarguerite  made  me  sit  dowm,  and  put  before  me  a  cup 
of  cold  beef  tea,  which  she  had  simmered  so  carefully  for  a 
long  time  that  it  was  then  a  delicious  jelly,  and  I  swallowed  it 
in  a  second.  I  was  in  a  great  hurry  to  start.  On  rising  from 
my  chair  I  moved  so  brusquely  that  my  dress  caught  on  an  in- 
visible splinter  of  wood,  and  was  torn.  My  mother  turned  to  a 
visitor  who  had  arrived  about  five  minutes  before,  and  had 
remained  in  contemplative  admiration  ever  since. 

"  There,"  she  said  to  him  in  a  vexed  tone,  "  that  is  a  proof 
of  what  I  told  you.  All  your  silks  tear  with  the  slightest  move- 
ment. ' ' 

"  Oh,  no,"  replied  our  visitor  quickly,  "  I  told  you  that 
this  one  was  not  well  '  dressed,'  and  let  you  have  it  at  a  low 
price  on  that  account." 

The  man  who  spoke  was  the  most  extraordinary  individual 
imaginable.  I  do  not  mean  as  regards  his  appearance,  as  he 
was  like  a  not  too  ugly  young  Jew.  He  was  shy  and  a  Dutch- 
man; never  violent,  but  tenacious.  I  had  known  him  from  my 
childhood.  His  father,  who  was  a  friend  of  my  grandfather's 
on  my  mother's  side,  was  a  rich  tradesman,  and  the  father  of  a 
tribe  of  children.  He  gave  each  of  his  sons  a  small  sum  of 
money,  and  sent  them  all  out  to  make  their  fortune  where  they 
liked.  Jacques,  the  one  of  whom  I  am  speaking,  came  to  Paris. 
He  had  commenced  by  selling  Passover  cakes,  and,  as  a  boy, 
had  often  brought  me  some  of  them  to  the  convent,  together 
with  the  dainties  that  my  mother  sent  me.  Later  on,  my  sur- 
prise was  great  on  seeing  him  offer  my  mother  rolls  of  oilcloth 
such  as  is  used  for  tablecloths  for  early  breakfast.    I  remember 

66 


I    RECITE    "THE    TWO    PIGEONS" 

one  of  those  cloths,  the  border  of  which  was  formed  of  medal- 
lions representing  the  French  kings.  It  was  from  that  oilcloth 
that  I  learned  my  history  best.  For  the  last  month  he  had 
owned  quite  an  elegant  vehicle,  and  he  sold  "  silks  that  were 
not  well  dressed."  At  present  he  is  one  of  the  leading  jewelers 
of  Paris. 

The  slit  in  my  dress  was  soon  mended  and,  knowing  now 
that  the  silk  was  not  well  dressed,  I  treated  it  with  respect. 
Finally  we  started — Mile.  De  Brabender,  Mme.  Guerard,  and 
I  in  a  carriage  that  was  only  intended  for  two  persons,  and  I 
was  glad  that  it  was  so  small,  for  I  was  close  to  two  people  who 
were  fond  of  me,  and  my  silk  frock  was  spread  carefully  over 
their  knees. 

When  I  entered  the  waiting  room  that  leads  into  the  recital 
hall  of  the  Conservatoire,  there  were  about  twenty  young  men 
and  about  thirty  girls  there.  All  these  girls  were  accompanied 
by  their  mother,  father,  aunt,  brother,  or  sister.  There  was  an 
odor  of  pomade  and  vanilla  that  made  me  feel  sick. 

When  we  were  shown  into  this  room,  I  felt  that  everyone 
was  looking  at  me,  and  I  blushed  to  the  back  of  my  head.  Mme. 
Guerard  drew  me  gently  along,  and  I  turned  to  take  Mile.  De 
Brabender 's  hand.  She  came  shyly  forward,  blushing  more, 
and  still  more  confused  than  I  was.  Everyone  looked  at  her, 
and  I  saw  the  girls  nudge  each  other  and  nod  in  her  direction. 
One  of  them  suddenly  got  up  and  moved  across  to  her  mother. 

* '  Oh,  mercy,  look  at  that  old  sight !  ' '  she  said. 

"  My  poor  governess  felt  most  uncomfortable,  and  I  was 
furious.  I  thought  she  w'as  a  thousand  times  nicer  than  all 
those  fat,  dressed-up,  common-looking  mothers.  Certainly  she 
was  different  from  other  people  in  her  appearance,  for  Mile. 
De  Brabender  was  wearing  a  salmon-colored  dress,  an  Indian 
shawl  drawn  tightly  across  her  shoulders,  and  fastened  with  a 
very  large  cameo  brooch.  Her  bonnet  was  trimmed  with  ruches 
so  close  together  that  it  looked  like  a  nun's  headgear.  She  cer- 
tainly was  not  at  all  like  these  dreadful  people  in  whose  society 
we  found  ourselves,  and  among  whom  there  were  not  more  than 
ten  exceptions  to  the  rule.     The  young  men  were  standing  in 

67 


MEMORIES    OF    MY    LIFE 

compact  groups  iicjir  the  windows.  They  were  laughing  and,  I 
suspect,  making  remarks  in  doubtful  taste. 

The  heavy,  red  baize  door  opened,  and  a  girl  with  a  red 
face  and  a  young  man  perfectly  scarlet  came  back  after  acting 
their  scene.  They  each  went  to  their  respective  friends  and 
then  chattered  away,  finding  fault  with  each  other.  A  name 
was  called  out — Mile.  Dica  Petit — and  I  saw  a  tall,  fair,  distin- 
guished-looking girl  move  forward  without  any  embarrassment. 
She  stopped  on  her  way  to  kiss  a  pretty  woman,  stout,  with  a 
pink-and-white  complexion,  and  very  much  dressed  up. 

**  Don't  be  afraid,  mother  dear,"  she  said,  and  then  she 
added  a  few  words  in  Dutch  before  disappearing,  followed  by 
a  young  man  and  a  very  thin  girl  who  were  to  give  her  her  cues. 

This  was  explained  to  me  by  Leautaud,  who  called  over  the 
names  of  the  pupils  and  took  down  the  names  of  those  who  were 
to  act  and  those  who  were  to  give  the  cues.  I  knew  nothing  of 
all  this,  and  wondered  who  was  to  give  me  the  cues  for  Agnes. 
He  mentioned  several  young  men,  but  I  interrupted  him. 

"  Oh,  no,"  I  said,  "  I  will  not  ask  anyone.  I  do  not  know 
any  of  them,  and  I  will  not  ask." 

"  Well,  then,  what  will  you  recite,  mademoiselle?  "  asked 
Leautaud,  wdth  the  most  outre  accent  possible. 

*'  I  will  recite  a  fable,"  I  replied. 

He  burst  out  laughing  as  he  wrote  down  my  name  and  the 
title,  "  Deux  Pigeons,"  w^hich  I  gave  him.  I  heard  him  still 
laughing  under  his  heavy  mustache  as  he  continued  his  round. 
He  then  went  back  into  the  Conservatoire,  and  I  began  to  get 
feverish  with  excitement,  so  that  Mme.  Guerard  was  anxious 
about  me,  as  my  health,  unfortunately,  was  very  delicate.  She 
made  me  sit  down,  and  then  she  put  a  few  drops  of  eau  de  Co- 
logne behind  my  ears. 

"  There,  that  wall  teach  you  to  wink  like  that!  "  were  the 
words  I  suddenly  heard,  and  a  girl  wdth  the  prettiest  face 
imaginable  had  her  ears  boxed  soundly.  Nathalie  Mauvoy's 
mother  was  correcting  her  daughter.  I  sprang  up,  trembling 
with  fright  and  indignation,  and  was  as  angry  as  a  young  turkey 
cock.     I  wanted  to  go  and  box  the  horrible  woman's  ears  in 

68 


I    RECITE    "THE    TWO    PIGEONS" 

return,  and  then  to  kiss  the  pretty  girl  who  had  been  insulted 
in  this  way,  but  I  was  held  back  firmly  by  my  two  guardians. 

Dica  Petit  now  returned,  and  this  caused  a  diversion  in  the 
waiting  room.  She  was  radiant  and  quite  satisfied  with  herself. 
Oh,  very  well  satisfied,  indeed !  Her  father  held  out  a  little 
flask  to  her  in  which  was  some  kind  of  cordial,  and  I  should 
have  liked  some  of  it,  too,  for  my  mouth  was  dry  and  burning. 
Her  mother  then  put  a  little  Avoolen  square  over  her  chest  before 
fastening  her  coat  for  her,  and  then  all  three  of  them  went  away. 
Several  other  girls  and  young  men  were  called  before  my  turn 
came. 

Finally,  the  call  of  my  name  made  me  jump  as  a  sardine 
does  when  pursued  by  a  big  fish.  I  tossed  my  head  to  shake 
my  hair  back,  and  my  petite  dame  stroked  my  "  badly  dressed  " 
silk.  Mile.  De  Brabender  reminded  me  about  the  0  and  the  A, 
the  R,  the  P,  and  the  T,  and  I  then  went  alone  into  the  hall. 
I  had  never  been  alone  an  hour  in  my  life.  As  a  little  child  I 
was  always  clinging  to  the  skirts  of  my  nurse;  at  the  convent 
I  was  always  with  one  of  my  friends  or  one  of  the  Sisters;  at 
home  either  with  Mile.  De  Brabender  or  Mme.  Guerard,  or  if 
they  were  not  there,  in  the  kitchen  with  Marguerite.  And  now, 
there  I  was  alone  in  that  strange-looking  room,  with  a  platform 
at  the  end,  a  large  table  in  the  middle,  and,  seated  round  this 
table,  men  who  either  grumbled,  growled,  or  jeered.  There 
was  only  one  woman  present,  and  she  had  a  loud  voice.  She  M^as 
holding  an  eyeglass,  and,  as  I  entered,  she  dropped  it  and 
looked  at  me  through  her  opera  glass.  I  felt  everyone's  gaze 
on  my  back  as  I  climbed  up  the  few  steps  to  the  platform. 
Leautaud  bent  forward  and  whispered : 

"  Make  your  bow  and  commence,  and  then  stop  when  the 
chairman  rings." 

I  looked  at  the  chairman,  and  saw  that  it  was  M.  Auber.  I 
had  forgotten  that  he  was  Director  of  the  Conservatoire,  just 
as  I  had  forgotten  everything  else.  I  at  once  made  my  bow, 
and  began : 

"  Deux  pigeons  s'aimaient  d'amour  tendre 
L'un  d'eux  s'ennuyant  ..." 
69 


MEMORIKS    OF    M\     1,11'K 

A  low,  frrumbling  sound  was  heard,  and  then  a  ventriloquist 
nmtlorcd  : 

"  It  isn't  an  elocution  class  here.  What  an  id<'a  to  come 
here  reciting  fables!  " 

It  was  Reanvallct,  the  thunderitif;  tra^^cflian  of  the  Comedie 
Franraisc.     I  stopped  short,  my  heart  beating  wildly. 

"  Co  on,  my  child,"  said  a  man  with  silvery  hair.  This  was 
Provost. 

"  Yes,  it  won't  be  as  long  as  a  scene  from  a  play,"  exclaimed 
Augustine  Brohan,  the  one  woman  present. 

I  began  again : 

•'  Deux  pigeons  s'aimaient  d'amour  tcndre 
L'un  d'eux  s'ennuyant  au  logis  ..." 

"  Louder,  my  child,  louder,"  said  a  little  man  with  curly 
white  hair,  in  a  kindly  tone.  This  was  Samson.  I  stopped 
again,  confused  and  frightened,  seized  suddenly  with  such  a 
foolish  fit  of  nervousness  that  I  could  have  shouted  or  howled. 
Samson  saw  this,  and  said  to  me:  "  Come,  come,  we  are  not 
ogres!  "    He  had  just  been  talking  in  a  low  voice  with  Auber. 

"  Come,  now,  begin  again,"  he  said,  "  and  speak  up." 

"  Ah,  no,"  put  in  Augustine  Brohan,  "  if  she  is  to  begin 
again,  it  will  be  longer  than  a  scene!  "  This  speech  made  all 
the  table  laugh,  and  that  gave  me  time  to  recover  myself.  I 
thought  all  these  people  unkind  to  laugh  like  this  at  the  expense 
of  a  poor,  little,  trembling  creature  who  had  been  delivered 
over  to  them,  bound  hand  and  foot. 

I  felt,  without  exactly  defining  it,  a  slight  contempt  for  these 
pitiless  judges.  Since  then  I  have  very  often  thought  of  that 
trial  of  mine,  and  I  have  come  to  the  conclusion  that  individuals 
who  are  kind,  intelligent,  and  compassionate  become  less  estima- 
ble when  they  are  together.  The  feeling  of  personal  irresponsi- 
bility encourages  their  evil  instincts,  and  the  fear  of  ridicule 
chases  away  their  good  ones. 

When  I  had  recovered  my  will  power  I  began  my  fable 
again,  determined  not  to  mind  what  happened.  ^My  voice  was 
more  liquid  on  account  of  emotion,  and  the   desire  to   make 

70 


I    RECITE    "THE    TWO    PIGEONS" 

myself  heard  caused  it  to  be  more  resonant.  There  was  silence, 
and  before  I  had  finished  my  fable  the  little  bell  rang.  I  bowed, 
and  came  down  the  few  steps  from  the  platform  thoroughly  ex- 
hausted.   M.  Auber  stopped  me  as  I  was  passing  by  the  table. 

"  Well,  little  girl,"  he  said,  "  that  was  very  good  indeed. 
M.  Provost  and  M.  Beauvallet  both  want  you  in  their  class." 

I  recoiled  slightly  when  he  told  me  which  was  M.  Beauvallet, 
for  he  was  the  ' '  ventriloquist  ' '  who  had  given  me  such  a  fright. 

"  Well,  which  of  these  two  gentlemen  should  you  prefer?  " 
he  asked. 

I  did  not  utter  a  word,  but  pointed  to  M.  Provost. 

"  Ah,  well,  that's  all  right!  Get  your  handkerchief  out,  my 
poor  Beauvallet,  and  I  shall  intrust  this  child  to  you,  my  dear 
Provost." 

It  was  only  at  that  moment  that  I  comprehended,  and,  wild 
with  joy,  I  exclaimed: 

"  Then  I  have  passed?  " 

"  Yes,  you  have  passed,  and  there  is  only  one  thing  I  regret, 
and  that  is  that  such  a  pretty  voice  should  not  be  for  music." 

I  did  not  hear  anything  else,  for  I  was  beside  myself  with 
joy.    I  did  not  stay  to  thank  anyone,  but  bounded  to  the  door. 

''Ma  petite  dame!  Mademoiselle!  I  have  passed!  "  I  ex- 
claimed, and  when  they  shook  hands  and  asked  me  no  end  of 
questions  I  could  only  reply: 

**  Oh,  it's  quite  true — I  have  passed,  I  have  passed!  " 

I  was  surrounded  and  questioned. 

"  How  do  you  know  that  you  have  passed?  No  one  knows 
beforehand. ' ' 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  know,  though.  M.  Auber  told  me.  I  am  to 
go  into  M.  Provost's  class.  ]\I.  Beauvallet  wanted  me,  but  his 
voice  is  too  loud  for  me !  " 

A  disagreeable  girl  exclaimed:  "  Can't  you  stop  that?  And 
so  they  all  want  you!  " 

A  pretty  girl,  who  was  too  dark,  though,  for  my  taste,  came 
nearer  and  asked  me  gently  what  I  had  recited. 

"  The  fable  of  the  '  Two  Pigeons,'  "  I  replied. 

She  was  surprised,  and  so  was  everyone ;  while,  as  for  me,  I 

n 


MEMORIES    OE    MV    EIEE 

was  wildly  delighted  to  surprise  them  all.  I  tossed  my  hat  on 
my  head,  shook  my  frock  out,  and  dragging  my  two  friends 
along,  ran  away  dancing.  They  wanted  to  take  me  to  the  con- 
fectioner's to  have  something,  l)iit  I  refused.  We  got  into  a 
cab,  and  I  should  have  liked  to  push  that  cab  along  myself.  I 
fancied  I  saw  the  words  "  I  have  passed  "  written  up  over  all 
the  shops.  When,  on  account  of  the  crowded  streets,  the  cab 
had  to  stand,  it  seemed  to  me  that  the  people  stared  at  me,  and 
I  caught  myself  tossing  my  head  as  though  telling  them  all 
that  it  was  quite  true  I  had  passed  my  examination.  I  never 
thought  any  more  about  the  convent,  and  only  experienced  a 
feeling  of  pride  at  having  succeeded  in  my  first  venturesome 
enterprise.  Venturesome,  but  the  success  had  depended  only 
on  me.  It  seemed  to  me  as  though  the  cabman  would  never 
arrive  at  265  Rue  St.  Honore.  I  kept  putting  my  head  out  of 
the  window  and  sa^ng:  "  Faster,  cabby;  faster,  please!  "  At 
last  we  reached  the  house,  and  I  sprang  out  of  the  cab  and  hur- 
ried along  to  tell  the  good  news  to  my  mother.  On  the  way 
I  was  stopped  by  the  daughter  of  the  hall  porter.  She  was  a 
staymaker,  and  worked  in  a  little  room  on  the  top  floor  of  the 
house,  the  window  of  which  was  opposite  our  dining-room  where 
I  used  to  do  my  lessons  with  my  governess,  so  that  I  could  not 
help  seeing  her  ruddy,  wide-awake  face  constantly.  I  had  never 
spoken  to  her,  but  I  knew  who  she  was. 

"  Well,  Mile.  Sarah,  are  you  satisfied?  "  she  called  out. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  have  passed,"  I  answered,  and  I  could  not 
resist  stopping  a  minute  in  order  to  enjoy  the  astonishment  of 
the  hall-porter  family.  I  then  hurried  on,  but  on  reaching  the 
courtyard  came  to  a  dead  stand,  anger  and  grief  taking  posses- 
sion of  me,  for  there  I  beheld  my  petite  dayne,  her  two  hands 
forming  a  trumpet,  her  head  thrown  back,  shouting  to  my 
mother  who  was  leaning  out  of  the  window:  "  Yes,  yes,  she  has 
passed !  "  I  gave  her  a  thump  with  my  clenched  hand  and 
began  to  cry  with  rage,  for  I  had  prepared  a  little  story  for  my 
mother,  ending  up  with  the  joyful  surprise.  I  had  intended 
putting  on  a  very  sad  look  on  arriving  at  the  door,  and  pretend- 
ing to  be  broken-hearted  and  ashamed.     I  felt  sure  she  would 

72 


I    RECITE    "THE    TWO    PIGEONS" 

say:  "  Oh,  I  am  not  surprised,  my  poor  child,  you  are  so  fool- 
ish! "  and  then  I  should  have  thrown  my  arms  round  her  neck 
and  said:  "  It  isn't  true,  it  isn't  true;  I  have  passed!  "  I  had 
pictured  to  myself  her  face  brightening  up,  and  then  old  Mar- 
guerite and  my  godfather  laughing  heartily,  and  my  sisters 
dancing  with  joy,  and  here  w^as  Mme.  Guerard  sounding  her 
trumpet  and  spoiling  all  my  effects  that  I  had  prepared  so  well. 

I  must  say  that  the  kind  woman  continued  as  long  as  she 
lived  (that  is  the  greater  part  of  my  life)  spoiling  all  my  effects. 
It  was  all  in  vain  that  I  made  scenes;  she  could  not  help  her- 
self. "Whenever  I  told  a  good  story  and  wanted  it  to  be  very 
effective,  she  would  invariably  burst  into  fits  of  laughter  before 
the  end  of  it.  If  I  started  on  a  story  with  a  very  lamentable 
ending,  which  was  to  be  a  surprise,  she  would  sigh,  roll  her  eyes, 
and  murmur:  "  Oh,  dear!  oh,  dear!  "  so  that  I  always  missed 
the  effect  I  was  counting  on.  Still  more  often,  when  anything 
was  being  guessed  and  I  asked  people  for  the  answer,  she  would 
reply  before  anyone  else,  as  she  was  always  in  my  confidence, 
and  I  had  perhaps  told  her  the  answer  a  second  before.  All 
this  used  to  exasperate  me  to  such  a  degree  that,  before  beginning 
a  story  or  a  game,  I  used  to  ask  her  to  go  out  of  the  room,  and 
she  would  get  up  and  go,  laughing  at  the  idea  of  the  blunder 
she  would  make  if  there. 

Furious,  then,  on  this  occasion,  and  abusing  Mme.  Guerard, 
I  went  upstairs  to  my  mother,  whom  I  found  at  the  open  door. 
She  kissed  me  affectionately,  and  on  seeing  my  sulky  face  asked 
if  I  was  not  satisfied. 

"  Yes,"  I  replied,  "  but  I  am  furious  with  Guerard.  Be 
nice,  mamma,  and  pretend  you  don't  know.  Shut  the  door,  and 
I  will  ring." 

She  did  this,  and  I  rang  the  bell.  Marguerite  open<?d  the 
door,  and  my  mother  came  and  pretended  to  be  astonished.  My 
sisters,  too,  arrived,  and  my  godfather  and  my  aunt.  When  I 
kissed  my  mother,  exclaiming,  "I  have  passed!"  everyone 
shouted  with  joy,  and  I  was  gay  again.  I  had  made  my  effect 
anyhow.  It  was  "  the  career  "  taking  possession  of  me  un- 
awares. 

73 


MExMOlllES    OF    M\     lAVE 

]\Iy  sister  Tlegirica,  wIkmii  the  Sisters  would  not  have  in  the 
convent  iiiid  so  had  sent  lionio,  bofjan  to  danco  a  jij;:.  She  had 
learned  this  in  the  country  when  she  had  been  put  out  to  nurse, 
and  ujxin  every  occasion  slie  (hinccd  it,  finishing  always  with 
this  couplet: 

My  little  dear,  rejoice, 

Everything  is  for  you.  .  .  . 

Nothing  could  be  more  comic  than  this  chubby  child  with  her 
serious  air.  Regina  never  laughed,  and  only  a  suspicion  of  a 
smile  ever  played  over  her  thin  lips  and  over  her  mouth,  which 
was  too  small.  Nothing  could  be  more  comic  than  to  see  her,  look- 
ing grave  and  rough,  dancing  the  jig.  She  was  funnier  than  ever 
that  day,  as  she  was  excited  by  the  general  joy.  She  was  four 
years  old,  and  nothing  ever  embarrassed  her.  She  was  both 
timid  and  bold.  She  detested  society  and  people  generally,  but 
if  made  to  go  in  the  dining-room  she  embarrassed  people  by  her 
crude  remarks,  which  were  most  odd,  by  her  rough  answers  and 
her  kicks  and  blows.  She  was  a  terrible  child,  with  silver}^  hair, 
dark  complexion,  blue  eyes  too  large  for  her  face,  and  thick 
lashes  which  made  a  shadow  on  her  cheeks  when  she  lowered 
the  lids,  and  joined  her  eyebrows  when  her  eyes  were  open.  She 
would  be  four  or  five  hours  sometimes  without  uttering  a  word, 
without  answering  any  question  she  was  asked,  and  then  she 
would  jump  up  from  her  little  chair,  begin  to  sing  as  loud  as 
she  could,  and  dance  the  jig.  On  this  day  she  was  in  a  good 
temper,  for  she  kissed  me  affectionately  and  opened  her  thin 
lips  to  smile.  My  sister  Jeanne  kissed  me,  and  made  me  tell 
her  about  my  examination.  My  godfather  gave  me  a  hundred 
francs,  and  M.  Meydieu,  who  had  just  arrived  to  find  out  the 
result,  promised  to  take  me  the  next  day  to  Barbedienne's  to 
choose  a  clock  for  my  room,  as  that  was  one  of  my  dreams. 


74 


CHAPTER   VI 

I    DECLINE    MATRIMONY    AND   WED    ART 

}HE  great  change  began  in  me  from  that  day.  For 
rather  a  long  time,  indeed,  my  soul  remained  child- 
like, but  my  mind  discerned  life  more  distinctly.  I 
felt  the  need  of  creating  a  personality  for  myself. 
That  was  the  first  awakening  of  my  will.  I  wanted  to  be  some 
one.  Mile.  De  Brabender  declared  to  me  that  this  was  pride. 
It  seemed  to  me  that  it  was  not  quite  that,  but  I  could  not  then 
define  what  the  sentiment  was  which  imposed  this  wish  on  me. 
I  did  not  understand  until  a  few  months  later  why  I  wished  to 
be  some  one. 

A  friend  of  my  godfather's  made  me  an  offer  of  marriage. 
This  man  was  a  rich  tanner,  and  very  kind,  but  so  dark  and 
with  such  long  hair  and  such  a  beard  that  he  disgusted  me.  I 
refused  him,  and  my  godfather  then  asked  to  speak  to  me 
alone.  He  made  me  sit  down  in  my  mother's  boudoir,  and  said 
to  me: 

*'  My  poor  child,  it  is  pure  folly  to  refuse  M.  B .     He 

has  sixty  thousand  francs  a  year  and  expectations." 

It  was  the  first  time  I  had  heard  this  use  of  the  word,  and 
when  the  meaning  was  explained  to  me  I  wondered  if  that  was 
the  right  thing  to  say  on  such  an  occasion. 

"  Why,  yes,"  replied  my  godfather,  "  j^ou  are  idiotic 
with  your  romantic  ideas.  Marriage  is  a  business  affair, 
and  must  be  considered  as  such.  Your  future  father  and 
mother-in-law  will  have  to  die,  just  as  we  shall,  and  it  is  by 
no  means  disagreeable  to  know  that  they  will  leave  two  million 

75 


MlvMORIES    OF    MV    LIFK 

francs  to  their  son,  and  consc'(iuently  to  you,  if  you  marry 
him." 

"  I  shall   not   marry  him,  though." 

"  Why?" 

"  Becauso  T  do  not  love  him." 

"  But  you  never  love  your  husband  before — "  replied  my 
practical  adviser.     "  You  can  love  him  after." 

"  After  what?  " 

"  Ask  your  mother.  But  listen  to  me  now,  for  it  is  not  a 
question  of  that.  You  must  marry.  Your  mother  has  a  small 
income  which  your  father  left  her,  but  this  income  comes  from 
the  profits  of  the  manufactory  which  belongs  to  your  grand- 
mother, and  she  cannot  bear  your  mother,  who  will  therefore 
lose  that  income,  and  then  have  nothing  and  three  children  on 
her  hands.  It  is  that  accursed  lawyer  who  is  arranging  all  this. 
The  whys  and  wherefores  would  take  too  long  to  explain.  Your 
father  managed  his  business  affairs  very  badly.  You  must 
marry,  therefore,  if  not  for  your  own  sake,  for  the  sake  of  your 
mother  and  sisters.  You  can  then  give  your  mother  the  hun- 
dred thousand  francs  your  father  left  you,  which  no  one  else 

can  touch.     M.  B will  allow  you  three  hundred  thousand 

francs.  I  have  arranged  everything,  so  that  you  can  give  this 
to  your  mother  if  you  like,  and  with  four  hundred  thousand 
francs  she  will  be  able  to  live  very  well." 

I  cried  and  sobbed,  and  asked  to  have  time  to  think  it  over. 
I  found  my  mother  in  the  dining-room. 

"  Has  your  godfather  told  you?  "  she  asked  gently,  in 
rather  a  timid  way. 

**  Yes,  mother;  yes,  he  has  told  me.  Let  me  think  it  over, 
will  you?  "  I  said,  sobbing,  as  I  kissed  her  neck  lingeringly. 

I  then  locked  myself  in  my  bedroom,  and,  for  the  first  time 
for  many  days,  I  regretted  the  separation  from  my  convent. 
All  my  childhood  rose  up  before  me,  and  I  cried  more  and  more, 
and  felt  so  unhappy  that  I  wished  I  could  die.  Gradually,  how- 
ever, I  began  to  get  calm  again  and  realized  what  had  hap- 
pened, and  what  my  godfather's  words  meant.  Most  decidedly 
I  did  not  want  to  marry  this  man.     Since  I  had  been  at  the 

76 


I    DECLINE    MATRIMONY    AND    WED    ART 

Conservatoire,  I  had  learned  a  few  things  vaguely,  very  vaguely, 
for  I  was  never  alone,  but  I  understood  enough  to  make  me  not 
want  to  marry  without  being  in  love.  I  was,  however,  destined 
to  be  attacked  in  a  quarter  from  which  I  should  not  have  ex- 
pected it.  Mme.  Guerard  asked  me  to  go  up  to  her  room  to  see 
the  embroidery  she  was  doing  on  a  frame  for  my  mother's 
birthday. 

My  astonishment  was  great  to  find  ]\I.  B there.     He 

begged  me  to  change  my  mind.  He  made  me  very  wretched, 
for  he  pleaded  wnth  tears  in  his  eyes. 

"  Do  you  want  a  larger  marriage  settlement?  "  he  asked. 
"  I  would  make  it  five  hundred  thousand  francs." 

But  it  was  not  that  at  all,  and  I  said  in  a  very  low  voice : 

"  I  do  not  love  you,  monsieur." 

*'  If  you  do  not  marry  me,  mademoiselle,"  he  said,  "  I  shall 
die  of  grief." 

I  looked  at  him  and  repeated  to  myself  the  words,  "  die  of 
grief."  I  was  embarrassed  and  desperate,  but  at  the  same  time 
delighted,  for  he  loved  me  just  as  a  man  does  in  a  play.  Phrases 
that  I  had  read  or  heard  came  to  my  mind  vaguely,  and  I  re- 
peated them  without  any  real  conviction,  and  then  left  him 
without  the  slightest  coquetry. 

M.  B did  not  die.     He  is  still  living,  and  has  a  very 

important  financial  position.  He  is  much  nicer  now  than  when 
he  was  so  black,  for  at  present  he  is  quite  white. 

I  had  just  passed  my  first  examination  with  remarkable  suc- 
cess, particularly  in  tragedy.  M.  Provost,  my  professor,  had 
not  wanted  me  to  compete  in  "  Zaire,"  but  I  had  insisted.  I 
thought  that  scene  with  Zaire  and  her  brother  Nivestan  very 
fine,  and  it  suited  me.  But  when  Zaire,  overwhelmed  with  her 
brother's  reproaches,  falls  on  her  knees  at  his  feet,  Provost 
wanted  me  to  say  the  words,  ' '  Strike,  I  tell  you !  I  love  him !  ' ' 
with  violence,  and  I  wanted  to  say  them  gently,  perfectly  re- 
signed to  a  death  that  w^as  almost  certain.  I  argued  about  it 
for  a  long  time  with  my  professor,  and  finally  I  appeared  to 
give  in  to  him  during  the  lesson.     But  on  the  day  of  the  com- 

77 


MEMORIES    OF    MY    LIFE 

petition  I  fell  oil  my  knees  before  Nerestan  with  a  sob  so  real, 
my  arms  outstn'tclicd,  olTcrinj;  my  Vieart  so  full  of  love  to  the 
deadly  blow  that  I  exix'cted,  and  f  murmured  with  suc;h  tender- 
ness, "  Strike,  I  tell  you!  I  love  him!  "  that  the  whole  house 
burst  inlo  applause  and  demanded  it  twiee  over. 

The  .second  prize  for  tragedy  was  awarded  me,  to  the  great 
dissatisfaction  of  the  public,  as  it  was  thought  that  I  ought  to 
have  had  the  first  prize.  And  yet  it  was  only  just  that  I  should 
have  the  second,  on  account  of  my  age  and  the  short  time  I 
had  been  studying.  I  had  a  first  acccssit  for  comedy  in  "  La 
Fausse  Agnes,"  and  Sarcey  wrote  an  article  about  it. 

I  felt,  therefore,  that  I  had  the  right  to  refuse  M.  B -. 

My  future  lay  open  before  me,  and  consequently  my  mother 
would  not  be  in  want  if  she  should  lose  her  present  income. 
A  few  days  later,  M.  Regnier,  professor  at  the  Conservatoire 
and  secretary  of  the  Comedie  Francaise,  came  to  ask  my  mother 
whether  she  w'ould  allow  me  to  play  in  a  piece  of  his  at  the 
Vaudeville.  The  piece  was  "  Germaine,"  and  the  managers 
would  give  me  twenty-five  francs  for  each  performance.  I  was 
amazed  at  the  sum !  Seven  hundred  and  fifty  francs  a  month 
for  my  first  appearance!  I  was  wild  with  joy.  I  besought  my 
mother  to  accept  the  offer  made  by  the  Vaudeville,  and  she  told 
me  to  do  as  I  liked  in  the  matter. 

I  asked  ]\I.  Camille  Doucet,  director  of  the  Beaux-Arts,  to 
allow  me  to  recite  something  to  him,  and,  as  my  mother  always 
refused  to  accompany  me,  ]\Ime.  Guerard  went  with  me.  ]My 
little  sister,  Regina,  begged  me  to  take  her,  and  very  unwisely 
I  consented.  We  had  not  been  in  the  director's  office  more  than 
five  minutes  before  my  sister,  who  was  only  six  years  old,  began 
to  climb  on  the  furniture.  She  jumped  on  a  stool,  and  finally 
sat  down  on  the  floor,  pulling  the  paper  basket,  which  was  under 
the  desk,  toward  her,  and  proceeded  to  spread  all  the  torn  papers 
which  it  contained  about  the  room.  On  seeing  this,  Camille 
Doucet  mildly  observed  that  she  was  not  a  very  good  little  girl. 
My  sister,  with  her  head  in  the  basket,  answered  in  her  husky 
voice : 

"  If  you  bother  me,  monsieur,   I  shall  tell  everyone  that 

78 


I    DECLINE    iMATRIMONY    AND    WED    ART 

you  are  there  to  give  out  holy  water  that  is  poison — my  annt 
says  so. ' ' 

My  face  turned  purple  with  shame,  and  I  stammered  out : 

"  Please  do  not  believe  that,  M.  Doucet,  my  little  sister  is 
telling  an  untruth." 

Regina  sprang  to  her  feet  and,  clenching  her  fists,  rushed 
at  me  like  a  little  fury: 

' '  Aunt  Rosine  never  said  that  ?  ' '  she  exclaimed.  ' '  You  are 
telling  the  untruth  .  .  .  why,  she  said  it  to  M.  De  Morny,  and 
he  answered  ..." 

I  had  forgotten  this,  and  I  have  forgotten  what  the  Due  de 
Morny  answered,  but,  beside  myself  with  anger,  I  put  my  hand 
over  my  sister's  mouth  and  took  her  quickly  away.  She  howled 
like  a  wildcat,  and  we  rushed  like  a  hurricane  through  the 
waiting  room  which  was  full  of  people.  I  then  gave  way  to 
one  of  those  violent  fits  of  temper  to  which  I  had  been  subject 
in  my  childhood.  I  sprang  into  the  first  cab  that  passed  the 
door,  and,  when  once  in  the  cab,  struck  my  sister  with  such  fury 
that  Mme.  Guerard  was  alarmed,  and  protected  her  with  her 
own  body,  receiving  all  the  blows  I  gave  with  my  head,  arms, 
and  feet,  for  in  my  anger,  rage,  and  shame  I  flung  myself  about 
to  right  and  left.  My  rage  was  all  the  more  profound  from  the 
fact  that  I  was  very  fond  of  Camille  Doucet.  He  was  gentle 
and  charming,  affable  and  kind-hearted.  He  had  refused  my 
aunt  something  she  had  asked  for,  and,  unaccustomed  to  being 
refused  anything,  she  had  a  spite  against  him.  This  had  nothing 
to  do  with  me,  though,  and  I  wondered  what  Camille  Doucet 
would  think.  And  then,  too,  I  had  not  asked  him  about  the 
Vaudeville. 

All  my  fine  dreams  had  come  to  nothing.  And  it  was  this 
little  monster,  who  looked  as  fair  and  as  white  as  a  seraph,  who 
had  just  shattered  my  hopes.  Huddled  up  in  the  cab,  an  ex- 
pression of  fear  on  her  self-willed  face,  and  her  thin  lips  com- 
pressed, she  was  gazing  at  me  under  her  long  lashes  with  half- 
closed  eyes.  On  reaching  home  I  told  my  mother  all  that  had 
happened,  and  she  declared  that  my  little  sister  should  have 
no  dessert  for  two  days.     Regina  was  greedy,  but  her  pride 

79 


Mi:.M()lUi:S    OF    MY     LIFE 

was  preatcr  lluiii  licr  t,'r('('cliii<'ss.  Slic  turned  round  on  her 
little  hi'fis  ;iii(l,  (laiiciii^'  Ikt  jij;,  bej^an  to  sin};,  "  My  little 
stomach  isii'  iit  all  ^lad,"  until  I  wanted  to  rush  at  her  and 
shake  her. 

A  I't-w  days  later,  during  my  lessons,  I  wa.s  told  that  the 
]\rinistry  refused  to  allow  me  to  act  at  the  Vaudeville. 

M.  Kegiiicr  lold  nic  how  sorry  he  was,  but  he  added  in  kindly 
tone : 

"  Oh.  l)ut,  my  dear  child,  the  Conservatoire  thinks  a  lot  of 
you!     Therefore  you  need  not  worry  too  much." 

"  I  am  sure  that  Camille  Doucet  is  at  the  bottom  of  it,"  I 
said. 

"  No,  he  certainly  is  not,"  answered  M.  Regnier,  "  Camille 
Doucet  was  our  warniast  advocate,  but  the  ^Ministry  will  not, 
upon  any  account,  hear  of  anything  that  might  be  detrimental 
to  your  debut  next  year." 

I  at  once  felt  most  grateful  to  Camille  Doucet  for  his  kind- 
ness in  bearing  no  ill  will  after  my  little  sister's  stupid  behavior. 
I  began  to  work  again  with  the  greatest  zeal,  and  did  not  miss 
a  single  lesson.  Every  morning  I  went  to  the  Conservatoire 
with  my  governess.  We  started  early,  as  I  preferred  walking 
to  taking  the  omnibus,  and  I  kept  the  franc  which  my  mother 
gave  me  every  morning,  part  of  which  was  for  the  omnibus  and 
part  for  cakes.  We  were  to  walk  home  always,  but  every  other 
day  we  took  a  cab  with  the  two  francs  I  had  saved  for  this 
purpose.  My  mother  never  knew  about  this  little  scheme,  but 
it  was  not  without  remorse  that  my  kind  Brabender  consented 
to  be  my  accomplice. 

As  I  said  before,  I  did  not  miss  a  lesson,  and  I  even  went 
to  the  deportment  class,  at  which  poor  old  ]\I.  Elie,  duly  curled, 
powdered,  and  adorned  with  lace  frills,  presided.  This  was  the 
most  amusing  lesson  imaginable.  Very  few  of  us  attended  this 
class,  and  M.  Elie  avenged  himself  on  us  for  the  abstention  of 
the  others.  At  every  lesson  each  one  of  us  was  called  forward. 
He  addressed  us  by  the  familiar  term  of  thou,  and  considered 
us  as  his  property.  There  were  only  five  or  six  of  us,  but  we 
each  had  to  mount  the  stage.     He  always  stood  up  with  his 

80 


^i 


< 

o 

< 

< 

1-1 

o 
w 

Q 
O 


I    DECLINE    MATRIMONY    AND    WED    ART 

little  black  stick  in  his  hand.    No  one  knew  why  he  should  have 
this  stick. 

*'  Now,  j^oung  ladies,"  he  would  say,  "  the  body  thrown 
back,  the  head  up,  on  tiptoes — that's  it — perfect.  One,  two, 
three,  march." 

And  we  marched  along  on  tiptoes  with  heads  up  and  eyelids 
drawn  over  our  eyes  as  we  tried  to  look  down  in  order  to  see 
where  we*  were  walking.  We  marched  along  like  this  with  all 
the  stateliness  and  solemnity  of  camels !  He  then  taught  us  to 
make  our  exit  with  indifference,  dignity,  or  fury,  and  it  was 
amusing  to  see  us  going  toward  the  doors  either  with  a  lagging 
step  or  in  an  animated  or  hurried  way,  according  to  the  mood 
in  which  we  were  supposed  to  be.  Then  we  heard:  "  Enough! 
Go!  Not  a  word!  "  for  M,  Elie  would  not  allow  us  to  murmur 
a  single  word.  "  Evervi;hing, "  he  used  to  say,  "  is  in  the  look, 
the  gesture,  the  attitude!  "  Then  there  was  what  he  called 
"  rassiette,"  which  meant  the  way  to  sit  down  in  a  dignified 
manner,  to  let  oneself  fall  into  a  seat  wearily,  or  the  ' '  assiette, ' ' 
which  meant :  "  I  am  listening,  monsieur ;  say  what  you  wish. 
Ah,  that  was  distractingly  complicated,  that  way  of  sitting 
down !  "We  had  to  put  everything  into  it :  the  desire  to  know 
what  was  going  to  be  said  to  us,  the  fear  of  hearing  it,  the 
determination  to  go  away,  the  will  to  stay.  Oh,  the  tears  that 
this  "  assiette  "  cost  me!  Poor  old  M.  Elie!  I  do  not  bear 
him  any  ill  will,  but  I  did  my  utmost  later  on  to  forget  every- 
thing he  had  taught  me,  for  nothing  could  have  been  more  use- 
less than  those  deportment  lessons.  Every  human  being  moves 
about  according  to  his  or  her  proportions.  Women  who  are  too 
tall  take  long  strides,  those  who  stoop  walk  like  the  Eastern 
women;  stout  women  walk  like  ducks,  short-legged  ones  trot; 
very  small  women  skip  along,  and  the  gawky  ones  walk  like 
cranes.  Nothing  can  be  done  for  them,  and  the  deportment  class 
has  very  wisely  been  abolished.  The  gesture  must  depict  the 
thought,  and  it  is  harmonious  or  stupid,  according  to  whether 
the  artiste  is  intelligent  or  null.  For  the  theater  one  needs  long 
arms;  it  is  better  to  have  them  too  long  than  too  short.  An 
artiste  with  short  arms  can  never,  never  make  a  fine  gesture. 
7  81 


MEMORIES    OF    MY    LIFE 

It  was  all  in  vain  thai  poor  Elie  told  lis  this  oi-  that.  We  were 
always  stupid  and  awkward,  while  he  was  always  comic;  oh,  ho 
comic,  poor  old  man ! 

I  also  took  fencing  lessons.  Aunt  Rosine  put  this  idea  into 
my  mother's  head.  I  had  a  lesson  once  a  week  from  the  famoiLs 
Pons.  Oh,  what  a  terrible  man  he  was!  Brutal,  rude,  and 
always  teasing,  he  was  an  incomparable  fencing  master,  but  he 
disliked  f>iving  lessons  to  "  brats  "  like  us,  as  he  called  as.  lie 
was  not  rich,  though,  and  I  believe,  but  am  not  sure  of  it,  that 
this  class  had  been  organized  for  him  by  a  distinguished  patron 
of  his.  He  always  kept  his  hat  on,  and  this  horrified  IVIlle.  De 
Brabender.  He  smoked  his  cigar,  too,  all  the  time,  and  this 
made  his  pupils  cough,  as  they  were  already  out  of  breath  from 
the  fencing  exercise.  What  torture  those  lessons  were!  He 
brought  with  him  sometimes  friends  of  his  who  delighted  in  our 
awkwardness.  This  gave  rise  to  a  scandal,  as  one  day  one  of 
these  gay  spectators  made  a  most  violent  remark  about  one  of 
the  pupils  named  Chatelain,  and  the  latter  turned  round  quickly 
and  gave  him  a  blow  in  the  face.  A  skirmish  immediately  oc- 
curred, and  Pons,  on  endeavoring  to  intervene,  received  a  blow 
or  two  himself.  This  made  a  great  stir,  and  from  that  day  forth 
visitors  M^ere  not  allowed  to  be  present  at  the  lesson.  I  per- 
suaded my  mother  to  let  me  discontinue  attending  this  class, 
and  this  was  a  great  relief  to  me. 

I  very  much  preferred  Regnier's  lessons  to  any  others.  He 
was  gentle,  had  nice  manners,  and  taught  us  to  be  natural  in 
what  we  recited,  but  I  certainly  owe  all  that  I  know  to  the 
variety  of  instruction  which  I  had,  and  which  I  followed  up 
in  the  most  devoted  way. 

Provost  taught  a  broad  style,  with  diction  somewhat  pompous 
but  sustained.  He  especially  emphasized  freedom  of  gesture 
and  inflection.  Beauvallet,  in  my  opinion,  did  not  teach  any- 
thing that  was  good.  He  had  a  deep,  effective  voice,  but  that 
he  could  not  give  to  anyone.  It  was  an  admirable  instrument, 
but  it  did  not  give  him  any  talent.  He  was  awkward  in  his 
gestures,  his  arms  were  too  short,  and  his  face  common.  I  de- 
tested him  as  a  professor. 

82 


I    DECLINE    MATRIMONY    AND    WED    ART 

Samson  was  just  the  opposite.  His  voice  was  not  strong,  but 
piercing.  He  had  a  certain  acquired  distinction,  but  was  very 
correct.  His  method  was  simplicity.  Provost  emphasized 
breadth;  Samson  exactitude,  and  he  was  very  particular  about 
the  finals.  He  would  not  allow  us  to  drop  the  voice  at  the  end 
of  the  phrase.  Coquelin,  who  is  one  of  Regnier's  pupils,  I  be- 
lieve, has  a  great  deal  of  Samson 's  style,  although  he  has  retained 
the  essentials  of  his  first  master's  teaching.  As  for  me,  I  re- 
member my  three  professors,  Regnier,  Provost,  and  Samson,  as 
though  I  had  heard  them  only  yesterday. 

The  year  passed  by  without  any  great  change  in  my  life,  but 
two  months  before  my  second  examination  I  had  the  misfortune 
to  have  to  change  my  professor.  Provost  was  taken  ill,  and  I 
went  in  to  Samson's  class.  He  counted  very  much  on  me,  but 
he  was  authoritative  and  persistent.  He  gave  me  two  very  bad 
parts  in  two  very  bad  pieces:  Hortense,  in  "  L'Ecole  des  Vieil- 
lards, "  by  Casimir  Delavigne,  for  comedy,  and  "  La  Fille  du 
Cid, "  for  tragedy.  This  piece  was  also  by  Casimir  Delavigne. 
I  did  not  feel  at  all  in  my  element  in  these  two  roles,  both  of 
which  were  written  in  hard,  emphatic  language. 

The  examination  day  arrived,  and  I  did  not  look  at  all  nice. 
My  mother  had  insisted  on  my  having  my  hair  done  up  by  her 
hairdresser,  and  I  had  cried  and  sobbed  on  seeing  this  "  Figaro  " 
make  partings  all  over  my  head  in  order  to  separate  my  re- 
bellious mane.  Idiot  that  he  was,  he  had  suggested  this  style 
to  my  mother,  and  my  head  was  in  his  stupid  hands  for  more 
than  an  hour  and  a  half,  for  he  never  before  had  to  deal  with  a 
mane  like  mine.  He  kept  mopping  his  forehead  every  five  min- 
utes, and  muttering :  ' '  What  hair !  Good  heavens !  it  is  horrible 
— just  like  tow!  It  might  be  the  hair  of  a  white  negress!  " 
Turning  to  my  mother,  he  suggested  that  my  head  should  be 
entirely  shaved,  and  the  hair  then  trained  as  it  grew  again. 
' '  I  will  think  about  it, ' '  replied  my  mother  in  an  absent-minded 
way.  I  turned  my  head  so  abruptly  to  look  at  her  when  she 
said  this  that  the  curling  irons  burned  my  forehead.  The  man 
was  using  the  irons  to  uncurl  my  hair.  He  considered  that  it 
curled  naturally  in  such  a  disordered  style  that  he  must  get  the 

83 


ME^IORIES    OF    MV    LIFE 

naturjil  curl  oul  ol"  it  jiihI  then  wave  it,  as  this  would  be  more 
becoming;  to  the  face. 

"  Mademoiselle's  hair  is  stopped  in  its  growth  by  this  ex- 
treme eurliness.  All  the  Tangiei-s  jj^irls  and  ne^resses  have  hair 
like  this.  As  mademoiselle  is  {JToing  on  the  stage,  she  would  look- 
better  if  she  had  hair  like  madame,"  he  said,  bowing  with  re- 
spectful admiration  to  my  mother,  who  certainly  had  the  most 
beautiful  hair  imaginable.  It  was  fair  and  so  long  that,  when 
standing  up,  she  could  tread  on  it  and  not  bend  her  head.  It 
is  only  fair  to  say,  though,  that  my  mother  was  very  short. 

Finally,  I  was  out  of  the  hands  of  this  wretched  man,  and 
was  nearly  dead  with  fright  after  an  hour  and  a  half's  brush- 
ing, combing,  curling,  hairpinning,  with  my  head  turned  from 
left  to  right  and  from  right  to  left.  I  was  completely  disfigured 
at  the  end  of  it  all,  and  did  not  recognize  myself.  My  hair 
was  drawn  tightly  back  from  my  temples,  my  ears  were  very 
visible  and  stood  out,  looking  positively  improper  in  their  naked- 
ness, while  on  the  top  of  my  head  was  a  parcel  of  little  sausages 
arranged  near  each  other  to  imitate  the  ancient  diadem. 

I  was  perfectly  hideous.  My  forehead,  of  which  I  caught  a 
glimpse  under  the  golden  mass  of  my  hair,  seemed  to  me  im- 
mense, implacable.  I  did  not  recognize  my  eyes,  accustomed  as 
I  was  to  see  them  veiled  by  the  shadow  of  my  hair.  My  head 
seemed  to  weigh  two  or  three  pounds.  I  was  accustomed  to  do 
my  hair  as  I  still  do,  with  two  hairpins,  and  this  man  had  put 
five  or  six  packets  in  it.    All  this  Avas  hea\^  for  my  poor  head. 

I  was  late,  and  so  I  had  to  dress  very  quickly.  I  cried  with 
anger,  and  my  eyes  grew  smaller,  my  nose  larger,  and  my  veins 
swelled.  But  it  was  the  climax  when  I  had  to  put  my  hat  on. 
It  would  not  go  on  the  pile  of  sausagas,  and  my  mother  wrapped 
my  head  up  in  a  lace  scarf  and  hurried  me  to  the  door. 

On  arriving  at  the  Conservatoire,  I  hurried  with  my  petite 
dame  to  the  waiting  room,  while  my  mother  went  direct  to  the 
hall.  When  once  I  was  in  the  Avaiting  room  I  tore  off  the  lace, 
and,  seated  on  a  bench,  after  relating  the  Odyssey  of  my  hair- 
dressing,  I  gave  my  head  up  to  my  companions.  All  of  them 
adored  and  envied  my  hair,  because  it  was  so  soft  and  light  and 

84 


I    DECLINE    MATRIMONY    AND    WED    ART 

golden.  All  of  them  took  pity  on  my  sorrow,  and  were  touched 
by  my  ugliness.  Their  mothers,  however,  were  spluttering  in 
their  own  fat  with  joy. 

The  girls  began  to  take  out  my  hairpins,  and  one  of  them, 
]\Iarie  Lloyd,  whom  I  liked  best,  took  my  head  in  her  hands  and 
kissed  it  affectionately. 

''  Oh,  your  beautiful  hair,  what  have  they  done  to  it!  "  she 
exclaimed,  pulling  out  the  last  of  the  hairpins.  This  sympathy 
made  me  once  more  burst  into  tears. 

Finally,  I  stood  up  triumphant,  Mnthout  any  hairpins  and 
without  any  sausages.  But  my  poor  hair  was  heavy  with  the 
beef  marrow  the  wretched  man'had  put  on  it,  and  it  was  full 
of  the  partings  he  had  made  for  the  creation  of  the  sausages.  It 
fell  now  in  mournful-looking,  greasy  flakes  around  my  face. 
I  shook  my  head  for  five  minutes  in  mad  rage.  I  then  succeeded 
in  making  the  hair  more  loose,  and  I  put  it  up  as  well  as  I 
could  with  a  couple  of  hairpins. 

The  competition  had  commenced,  and  I  was  the  tenth  to  be 
called.  I  could  not  remember  what  I  had  to  say.  Mme.  Guerard 
moistened  my  temples  with  cold  water,  and  Mile.  De  Brabender, 
who  had  only  just  arrived,  did  not  recognize  me,  and  was  look- 
ing about  for  me  everywhere.  She  had  broken  her  leg  nearly 
three  months  ago,  and  had  to  support  herself  on  a  crutch,  but 
she  had  wished  to  come. 

Mme.  Guerard  was  just  beginning  to  tell  her  about  the  drama 
of  the  hair  when  my  name  echoed  through  the  room.  "  Mile. 
Chara  Bernhardt !  "  It  was  Leautaud,  who  later  on  was 
prompter  at  the  Comedie  Francaise,  and  who  had  a  strong 
Auvergne  accent.  ' '  Mile.  Chara  Bernhardt !  "  I  heard  again, 
and  I  then  sprang  up  without  an  idea  in  my  mind  and  without 
uttering  a  word.  I  looked  round  for  the  pupil  who  was  to  give 
me  my  answers,  and  together  we  made  our  entry. 

I  was  surprised  at  the  sound  of  my  voice,  which  I  did  not 
recognize.  I  had  cried  so  much  that  it  had  affected  my  voice, 
and  I  spoke  through  my  nose. 

I  heard  a  woman's  voice  say: 

"  Poor  child,  she  ought  not  to  have  been  allowed  to  com- 

85 


MKMORTF.S    OF    MY    LIl'K 

pete;  she  has  an  atrocious  cold,  her  nose  is  niniiinj;,  and  her 
face  is  swollen." 

I  finished  niy  scene,  ina(h'  my  bow,  and  went  away  in  the 
midst  of  very  feeble  and  spiritless  applanse.  I  walked  like  a 
sonmanibnlist,  and  on  reachinj?  ]\Ime.  (Jucrard  and  Mile.  De 
Brabentler  fainted  away  in  their  arms.  Some  one  went  to  the 
hall  in  search  of  a  doctor,  and  the  rumor  that  "  the  little  Bern- 
hardt had  fainted  "  reached  my  mother.  She  was  sittinj;  far 
back  in  a  box  bored  to  death. 

"When  I  came  to  myself  again,  I  opened  my  eyes  and  saw 
my  mother's  pretty  face,  with  tears  hanpinp:  on  her  lonj?  lashes. 
I  laid  my  liead  against  hers  and  cried  quietly,  but  this  time  the 
tears  were  refreshing,  not  salt  ones  that  burned  my  eyelids. 

I  stood  up,  shook  out  my  dress,  and  looked  at  myself  in  the 
greenish  mirror.  I  was  certainly  less  ugly  now,  for  my  face 
was  rested,  my  hair  was  once  more  soft  and  light,  and  altogether 
there  was  a  general  improvement  in  my  appearance. 

The  tragedy  competition  was  over,  and  the  prizes  had  been 
awarded.  I  had  no  recompense  at  all,  but  my  last  year's  second 
prize  had  been  mentioned.  I  felt  confused,  but  it  did  not  cause 
me  flny  disappointment,  as  I  had  (piite  expected  things  to  be 
like  this.  Several  persons  had  protested  in  my  favor.  Camille 
Doucet,  who  was  a  member  of  the  jury,  had  argued  a  long  time 
for  me  to  have  a  first  prize  in  spite  of  my  bad  recitation.  He 
said  that  my  examination  reports  ought  to  be  taken  into  account, 
and  they  were  excellent;  and  then,  too,  I  had  the  best  class 
reports.  Nothing,  however,  could  overcome  the  bad  effect  pro- 
duced that  day  by  my  nasal  voice,  my  swollen  face,  and  my 
heavy  flakes  of  hair.  After  half  an  hour's  interval,  during 
which  I  drank  a  glass  of  port  wine  and  ate  cakes,  the  signal  was 
given  for  the  comedy  competition.  I  was  down  as  the  four- 
teenth for  this,  so  that  I  had  ample  time  to  recover.  ]\Iy  fighting 
instinct  now  began  to  take  possession  of  me,  and  a  sense  of 
injustice  made  me  feel  rebellious.  I  had  not  deserved  my  prize 
that  day,  but  it  seemed  to  me  that  I  ought  to  have  received  it 
nevertheless. 

I  made  up  my  mind  that  I  would  have  the  first  prize  for 

86 


SARAH   BERNHARDT   IN   THE   HANDS   OF   HER   COIFFEUR. 


I    DECLINE    MATRIMONY    AND    WED    ART 

comedy,  and  with  the  exaggeration  that  I  have  always  put  into 
everything,  I  began  to  get  excited,  and  I  said  to  myself  that  if 
I  did  not  have  the  first  prize  I  must  give  up  the  idea  of  the 
stage  as  a  career.  My  love  of  mysticism  and  weakness  for  the 
convent  came  back  to  me  more  strongly  than  ever. 

"  Yes,"  I  said  to  myself,  ''  I  will  go  back  to  the  convent, 
but  only  if  I  do  not  get  the  first  prize  ";  and  then  the  most 
foolish,  illogical  strike  imaginable  was  w^aged  in  my  weak,  girl's 
brain.  I  felt  a  genuine  vocation  for  the  convent  when  distressed 
about  losing  the  prize,  and  a  genuine  vocation  for  the  theater 
when  I  was  hopeful  about  winning  the  prize. 

With  a  very  natural  partiality  I  discovered  in  myself  the 
gift  of  absolute  self-sacrifice,  renunciation,  and  devotion  of  every 
kind — qualities  which  would  win  for  me  easily  the  post  of 
Mother  Superior  in  the  Grandchamps  Convent.  Then  with  the 
most  indulgent  generosity  I  attributed  to  myself  all  the  neces- 
sary gifts  for  the  fulfillment  of  my  other  dream,  namely,  to  be- 
come the  first,  the  most  celebrated,  and  the  most  envied  of 
actresses.  I  counted  on  my  fingers  all  my  qualities :  graceful- 
ness, charm,  distinction,  beauty,  mystery,  piquancy.  Oh,  yes, 
I  found  I  had  all  these,  and  when  my  reason  and  my  honesty 
raised  any  doubt  or  suggested  a  "  but  "  to  this  fabulous  in- 
ventory of  my  qualities,  my  combative  and  paradoxical  ego  at 
once  found  a  plain  decisive  answer  which  admitted  of  no  further 
argument. 

It  was  under  these  special  conditions  and  in  this  frame  of 
mind  that  I  went  on  to  the  stage  when  my  turn  came.  The 
choice  of  my  role  for  this  competition  was  a  very  stupid  one. 
I  had  to  represent  a  married  woman  who  was  reasonable  and 
given  to  reasoning,  and  I  was  a  mere  child,  and  looked  much 
younger  than  I  was.  In  spite  of  this,  I  was  very  brilliant;  I 
argued  well,  was  very  gay,  and  had  immense  success.  I  was 
transfigured  with  joy  and  wildly  excited,  so  sure  I  felt  of  a  first 
prize. 

I  never  doubted  for  a  moment  that  it  would  be  awarded  to 
me  unanimously.  When  the  competition  was  over,  the  committee 
met  to  discuss  the  awards,  and  in  the  meantime  I  asked  for 

87 


MKM()Uii:s  oi-  M\    i-ii  i: 

somothinp:  to  oat.  A  cutlot  was  brouf^lil  fri)iii  thn  pastry  fook 
patronizod  by  tlio  Conservatoire,  and  I  (icvoiiiod  it,  to  the  f^roat 
joy  of  Mine.  (Juerard  and  Mile.  De  Brabcndor,  for  I  detested 
meat,  and  always  refused  to  eat  it. 

The  members  of  the  committee  at  last  went  to  their  places 
in  the  state  box,  and  there  was  siU-nce  in  the  hall.  Tlie  younj.? 
men  were  called  first  on  to  the  stage.  There  was  no  first  prize 
awarded  to  them.  Parfoiim's  name  was  called  for  the  second 
prize  for  comedy.  Parfourn  is  known  to-day  as  M.  Paul  Porel, 
director  of  the  Vaudeville  Theater,  and  R^jane's  husband.  After 
this  came  the  turn  for  the  girls. 

I  was  in  the  doorway,  ready  to  rush  up  to  the  stage.  The 
words  "  first  prize  for  comedy  "  were  uttered,  and  I  made  a 
step  forward,  pushing  aside  a  girl  who  was  a  head  taller  than 
I  was.  "  First  prize  for  comedy  awarded  unanimously  to  ]\Ille. 
Marie  Lloyd."  The  tall  girl  I  had  pushed  aside  now  went 
forward,  slender  and  beaming,  toward  the  stage. 

There  were  a  few  muttered  protests,  but  her  beauty,  her 
distinction,  and  her  modest  charm  won  the  day  with  everyone, 
and  Marie  Lloyd  was  cheered.  She  passed  me  on  her  return, 
and  kissed  me  affectionately.  We  were  great  friends,  and  I 
liked  her  very  much,  but  I  considered  her  a  nonentity  as  a  pupil. 
I  do  not  remember  whether  she  had  received  any  prize  the 
previous  year,  but  certainly  no  one  expected  her  to  have  one 
now,  and  I  was  simply  petrified. 

"  Second  prize  for  comedy:  Mile.  Bernhardt." 

I  had  not  heard  this,  and  was  pushed  forward  by  my  com- 
panions. On  reaching  the  stage  I  bowed,  and  all  the  time  I 
could  see  lumdreds  of  ]\Iarie  Lloyds  dancing  before  me.  Some 
of  them  were  making  grimaces,  others  Avere  throwing  me  kisses 
— some  were  fanning  themselves  and  others  bowing.  They  were 
very  tall,  all  these  IMarie  Lloyds — too  tall  for  the  ceiling,  and 
they  walked  over  the  heads  of  all  the  people  and  came  toward 
me,  crushing  me,  stifling  me,  so  that  I  could  not  breathe.  My 
face,  it  seems,  was  whiter  than  my  dress. 

On  returning  to  the  green  room,  I  sat  down  without  uttering 
a  word  and  looked  at  ]\Iarie  Lloyd,  who  was  being  made  much 

88 


I    DECLINE    MATRIMONY    AND    WED    ART 

of,  and  who  was  greatly  complimented  by  everyone.  She  was 
wearing  a  pale-blue  tarlatan  dress,  with  a  bunch  of  forget-me- 
nots  in  the  bodice  and  another  in  her  black  hair.  She  was  very 
tall,  and  her  delicate,  white  shoulders  emerged  modestly  from 
her  dress,  which  was  cut  very  low,  as  for  her  this  did  not  matter. 
Her  refined  face,  with  its  somewhat  proud  expression,  was 
charming  and  very  beautiful.  Although  very  young,  she  had 
more  womanly  charm  than  all  of  us.  Her  large  brown  eyes  had 
a  certain  play  in  them,  her  little  round  mouth  gave  a  smile 
which  was  full  of  mischief,  and  the  nostrils  of  her  wonderfully 
cut  nose  dilated.  The- oval  of  her  beautiful  face  was  intercepted 
by  two  little  pearly,  transparent  ears  of  the  most  exquisite  shape. 
She  had  a  long,  flexible  white  neck,  and  the  pose  of  her  head 
was  charming.  It  was  a  beauty  prize  that  the  jury  had  con- 
scientiously awarded  to  I\rarie  Lloyd.  She  had  come  on  the 
stage  gay  and  fascinating,  in  her  role  of  Celimene,  and  in  spite 
of  the  monotony  of  her  delivery,  the  carelessness  of  her  elocu- 
tion, the  impersonality  of  her  acting,  she  had  carried  off  all  the 
votes  because  she  was  the  very  personification  of  Celimene,  that 
coquette  of  twenty  years  of  age  who  was  unconsciously  so  cruel. 
She  had  realized  for  everyone  the  ideal  dreamed  of  by  Moliere. 

All  these  thoughts  shaped  themselves  later  on  in  my  brain, 
and  this  first  lesson,  which  was  so  painful  at  the  time,  was  of 
great  service  to  me  in  my  career.  I  never  forgot  JMarie  Lloyd 's 
prize,  and  every  time  that  I  had  to  create  a  role,  the  physical 
body  of  the  character  always  appeared  before  me  dressed,  with 
her  hair  done,  walking,  bowing,  sitting  down,  getting  up.  But 
this  was  only  a  vision  which  lasted  a  second,  for  my  mind  always 
thought  of  the  soul  governing  this  personage.  When  listening 
to  an  author  reading  his  work,  I  tried  to  define  the  intention 
of  his  idea,  endeavoring  to  identify  myself  with  that  intention. 
I  have  never  played  an  author  false  with  regard  to  his  idea,  and 
I  have  always  tried  to  represent  the  personage  according  to  his- 
tory, whenever  it  is  a  historical  personage,  and  when  it  is  an 
invention,  according  to  the  author. 

I  have  sometimes  tried  to  compel  the  public  to  return  to  the 
truth,  and  to  destroy  the  legendary  side  of  certain  personages 

89 


MKM()UIi:S    OF    MV    LIFE 

wlidiii  liisloi'v,  1  luniks  to  ils  (locmiH'iils,  now  n-jjrf.snnt.s  to  us 
jis  tliey  wore  in  n^ality;  l)iit  the  public  ncvn-  iollouod  ino.  I 
soon  realized  that  legend  remains  victorious  in  spit(!  of  history, 
and  this  is  perhaps  a  good  thing  for  the  mind  of  the  crowd. 
Jesus,  .loan  of  Arc,  Shakespeare,  the  Virgin  Mai-y,  Mahomet, 
and  Napoleon  I  have  all  entered  into  legend. 

It  is  impossible  now  for  our  brain  to  picture  .Jesus  and  tho 
Virgin  IMary  accomplishing  humiliating  human  functions.  They 
lived  the  life  that  we  are  living.  Death  chilled  their  sacred 
limbs,  and  it  is  not  without  rebellion  and  grief  that  we  accept 
this  fact.  We  start  off  in  pursuit  of  them  in  an  ethereal  heaven, 
in  the  infinite  of  our  dreams.  We  cast  down  all  the  dross  of 
hmnanity  in  order  to  let  them,  clothed  in  the  ideal,  be  seated 
on  a  throne  of  love.  We  do  not  like  Joan  of  Arc  to  be  the 
rustic,  bold,  peasant  woman,  repulsing  violently  the  old  soldier 
who  wants  to  joke  with  her,  sitting  astride  her  big  steed  like  a 
man,  laughing  readily  at  the  coarse  jokes  of  the  soldiers,  sub- 
mitting to  the  lewd  promiscuities  of  the  barbarous  epoch  in 
which  she  lived,  and  having,  on  that  account,  all  the  more  merit 
in  remaining  a  most  heroic  maiden. 

We  do  not  care  for  such  useless  truths.  In  the  legend  she 
is  a  fragile  woman  guided  by  a  divine  soul.  Her  girl's  arm 
which  holds  the  heavy  banner  is  sustained  by  an  invisible  angel. 
In  her  childish  eyes  there  is  something  from  another  world,  and 
it  is  from  this  that  all  the  warriors  get  their  strength  and  cour- 
age. It  is  thus  that  we  wish  it  to  be,  and  so  the  legend  remains 
triumphant. 

But  to  return  to  the  Conservatoire.  Nearly  all  the  pupils 
had  gone  away,  and  I  remained  quiet  and  embarrassed  on  my 
bench.     Marie  Lloyd  came  and  sat  down  by  me. 

"  Are  you  unhappy?  "  she  asked. 

"  Yes,'*  I  answered.  "  I  wanted  the  first  prize,  and  you 
have  it.    It  is  unjust." 

"  I  do  not  know  whether  it  is  just  or  not,"  answered  Marie 
Lloj'd,  "  but  I  assure  you  that  it  is  not  my  fault." 

I  could  not  help  laughing  at  this. 

' '  Shall  I  come  home  with  you  to  luncheon  ?  ' '  she  asked,  and 

90 


I    DECLINE    MATRIiSIONY    AND    WED    ART 

her  beautiful  eyes  grew  moist  and  beseeching.  She  was  an 
orphan  and  unhappy,  and  on  this  day  of  triumph  she  felt  the 
need  of  a  family.  ]\Iy  heart  began  to  melt  with  pity  and  affec- 
tion. I  threw  my  arms  round  her  neck,  and  we  all  four  went 
away  together — Marie  Lloyd,  Mme.  Guerard,  Mile.  De  Bra- 
bender,  and  I.  ]\Iy  mother  had  sent  me  word  that  she  had  gone 
on  home. 

In  the  cab  my  "  don't-care  "  character  won  the  day  once 
more,  and  we  chatted  gayly  about  one  and  another  of  the  people 
we  had  seen  during  the  morning.  "  Oh,  how  ridiculous  such 
and  such  a  person  was !  "  "  Did  you  see  her  mother's  bonnet?  " 
"  And  old  Estebenet,  did  you  see  his  white  gloves?  He  must 
have  stolen  them  from  some  policeman !  ' '  And  hereupon  we 
laughed  like  idiots,  and  then  began  again.  "  And  that  poor 
Chatelain  had  had  his  hair  curled !  ' '  said  Marie  Lloyd.  ' '  Did 
you  see  his  head?  " 

I  did  not  laugh  any  more,  though,  for  this  reminded  me  of 
how  my  own  hair  had  been  uncurled,  and  that  it  was  thanks  to 
that  I  had  not  won  the  first  prize  for  tragedy. 

On  reaching  home  we  found  my  mother,  my  aunt,  my  god- 
father, our  old  friend  Meydieu,  Mme.  Guerard 's  husband,  and 
my  sister  Jeanne  with  her  hair  all  curled.  This  gave  me  a 
pang,  for  she  had  straight  hair,  and  it  had  been  curled  to  make 
her  prettier,  although  she  was  charming  without  that,  and  the 
curl  had  been  taken  out  of  my  hair,  so  that  I  had  looked  uglier. 

My  mother  spoke  to  Marie  Lloyd  with  that  charming  and 
distinguished  indifference  peculiar  to  her.  My  godfather  made  a 
great  fuss  over  her,  for  success  was  everything  to  this  bourgeois. 
He  had  seen  my  young  friend  a  hundred  times  before,  and  had 
not  been  struck  by  her  beauty,  nor  yet  touched  by  her  poverty, 
but  on  this  particular  day  he  assured  us  that  he  had  for  a  long 
time  predicted  ]\Iarie  Lloyd's  triumph.  He  then  came  to  me, 
put  his  two  hands  on  my  shoulders,  and  held  me  facing  him. 

"  Well,  you  were  a  failure,"  he  said.  "  Why  persist  now 
in  going  in  for  the  theater?  You  are  thin  and  small,  your  face 
is  rather  nice  close  to,  but  ugly  in  the  distance,  and  your  voice 
does  not  carry!  " 

91 


MKMOUIKS    Ol"    M\     LIl'i: 

"  Vcs.  my  th'Jii-  ^ni-l,"  put  in  M.  .Mcylicn,  "  your  t;o(lfather 
is  ri^ht.  Von  had  better  marry  the  Hour  in;i(i  who  proposed,  or 
that  iinhccih'  of  a  Spanish  tanner  who  lost  liis  hrainh'ss  head 
for  tlu'  sake  of  your  pretty  eyes.  Vou  will  never  do  anythinj^ 
on  Ihe  stage!     Yoii'd  better  marry!  " 

M.  rUierard  eame  and  shook  hands  with  mv.  He  was  a  man 
of  nearly  sixty  years  of  ajre,  and  Mine.  (Juerard  was  mider 
thirty.  He  was  melaneholy,  <j:eiitlc,  and  shy;  he  had  be<-n 
awarded  the  distinction  of  the  L(>t^ion  of  Honor,  and  he  wore 
a  lonjj;,  sliabby  froek  coat,  had  aristocratic  j,'estures,  and  was 
private  secretary  to  M.  De  la  'I'oiir  Desmoulins,  a  deputy  very 
much  in  favor.  ^I.  Guerard  was  a  well  of  science,  and  I  owe 
a  great  deal  to  his  kindness. 

Jeanne  whispered  to  me : 

"  Sister's  frodfather  said  when  he  came  in  that  you  looked 
as  ugly  as  possible."  Jeanne  always  spoke  of  my  godfather  in 
this  way.  I  pushed  her  away,  and  we  sat  down  to  table.  All 
through  the  meal  my  one  wish  was  to  go  back  to  the  convent. 
I  did  not  eat  much,  and  directly  after  luncheon  was  so  tired 
that  I  had  to  go  to  bed. 

"When  once  I  was  alone  in  my  room  between  the  sheets,  with 
tired  limbs,  my  head  heavy  and  my  heart  oppressed  with  keep- 
ing back  my  sighs,  I  tried  to  consider  my  wretched  situation, 
but  sleep,  the  great  restorer,  came  to  the  rescue  and  I  was  very 
soon  slumbering  j)eacefully.  When  I  awoke  I  could  not  collect 
my  thoughts  at  first.  I  wondered  Avhat  time  it  was,  and  looked 
at  my  watch.  It  Avas  just  ten,  and  I  had  been  asleep  since  three 
o'clock  in  the  afternoon.  I  listened  for  a  few  minutes,  but 
everything  was  silent  in  the  house."  On  a  table  near  my  bed 
was  a  small  tray  on  which  was  a  cup  of  chocolate  and  a  cake. 
A  sheet  of  writing  paper  was  placed  upright  against  the  cup. 
I  trembled  as  I  took  it  u]).  for  I  never  received  any  letters.  With 
great  difficulty,  by  my  night  light,  I  managed  to  read  the  fol- 
lowing words,  written  by  ]\Ime.  Guerard: 

"  When  you  had  gone  to  sleep  the  Due  de  ^Morny  sent  word 
to  your  mother  that  Camille  Doucet  had  just  assured  him  that 

92 


I    DECLINE    MATRIMONY    AND    WED    ART 

you  were  to  be  engaged  for  the  Comedie  Francaise.  Do  not 
worry  any  more,  therefore,  my  dear  child,  but  have  faith  in 
the  future.    Your  petite  dame." 

I  pinched  myself  to  make  sure  that  I  was  really  awake.  I 
got  up  and  rushed  to  the  window.  I  looked  out,  and  the  sky 
was  black.  Yes,  it  was  black  to  everyone  else,  but  starry  to  me. 
The  stars  were  shining,  and  I  looked  for  my  own  special  one, 
and  chose  the  largest  and  brightest. 

I  went  back  toward  my  bed  and  amused  myself  with  jump- 
ing on  to  it,  holding  my  feet  together.  Each  time  I  missed 
I  laughed  like  a  lunatic.  I  then  drank  my  chocolate,  and  nearly 
choked  myself  devouring  my  cake. 

Standing  up  on  my  bolster,  I  then  made  a  long  speech  to  the 
Virgin  Mary  at  the  head  of  my  bed.  I  adored  the  Virgin  Mary, 
and  I  explained  to  her  my  reasons  for  not  being  able  to  take 
the  veil,  in  spite  of  my  vocation.  I  tried  to  charm  and  per- 
suade her,  and  I  kissed  her  very  gently  on  her  foot,  which  was 
crushing  the  serpent.  Then  in  the  obscurity  of  the  room  I 
looked  for  my  mother's  portrait.  I  could  scarcely  see  this, 
but  I  threw  kisses  to  it.  I  then  took  up  the  letter  again 
from  my  petite  dame  and  went  to  sleep  with  it  in  my  mind. 
I  do  not  remember  what  my  dreams  were  that  memorable 
night. 

The  next  day  everyone  was  very  kind  to  me.  ]\Iy  godfather, 
who  arrived  early,  nodded  his  head  in  a  contented  way. 

"  She  must  have  some  fresh  air,"  he  said.  "  I  will  pay  for 
a  landau."  The  drive  seemed  to  me  delicious,  for  I  could 
dream  to  mj^  heart's  content,  as  my  mother  disliked  talking 
when  in  a  carriage. 

Two  days  later,  our  old  servant,  Marguerite,  breathless  with 
excitement,  brought  me  a  letter.  On  the  corner  of  the  envelope 
there  was  a  wide  stamp  around  which  stood  the  magic  words: 
"  Comedie  Francaise."  I  glanced  at  my  mother  and  she  nod- 
ded, as  a  sign  that  I  might  open  the  letter,  after  blaming  Mar- 
guerite for  giving  me  a  letter  before  obtaining  her  permission 
to  do  so. 

93 


MEMORIES    OF    MY    T.TFE 

"  Tt  is  for  to-morrow,  to-morrow!  "  I  exclaimed.  "  T  am 
to  ^'o  tliere  to-morrow,  look — read  it!  " 

My  sisters  came  rushing  to  me  and  seized  my  hands.  I 
danced  i-ound  with  them  sin^inj;,  "It  is  to-morrow,  it's  to- 
morrow." My  yoiin<4:&st  sister  was  ei^ht  years  old,  but  I  was 
only  six  that  day.  I  went  upstairs  to  the  flat  on  the  top  floor 
to  tell  Mme.  (Juerard.  She  was  just  soaping  her  children's 
white  frocks  and  pinafores.  She  took  my  face  in  her  hands 
and  kissed  me  affectionately.  Her  two  hands  were  covered  with 
a  soapy  lather  and  left  a  snowy  patch  on  each  side  of  my  head. 
I  rushed  downstairs  again  in  that  condition,  and  went  noisily 
into  the  drawing-room.  My  godfather,  M.  INIeydieu,  my  aunt, 
and  my  mother  were  just  commencing  whist.  I  kissed  each  of 
them,  leaving  a  little  lather  on  their  faces,  at  which  I  laughed 
heartily.  But  I  was  allowed  to  do  anything  that  day,  for  I  had 
become  a  personage. 

The  next  day,  Tuesday,  I  was  to  go  to  the  Theatre  Fran- 
cais  at  one  o'clock  to  see  M.  Thierry,  who  was  then  director. 

What  was  I  to  wear?  That  was  the  great  question.  ]\Iy 
mother  had  sent  for  the  milliner,  who  had  arrived  with  various 
hats.  I  chose  a  white  one  trimmed  with  pale  blue,  a  white 
havolet  and  blue  strings.  Aunt  Rosine  had  sent  one  of  her 
dresses  for  me,  for  my  mother  thought  all  my  frocks  were  too 
childish.  Oh,  that  dress!  I  shall  see  it  all  my  life.  It  was 
hideous  cabbage  green  with  black  velvet  put  on  in  Grecian  pat- 
tern, I  looked  like  a  monkey  in  that  dress.  But  I  was  obliged 
to  wear  it.  Fortunately  it  was  covered  by  a  mantle  of  black 
grosgrain  stitched  all  round  with  white.  It  was  thought  bet- 
ter for  me  to  be  dressed  like  a  grown-up  person,  and  all  my 
clothes  were  suitable  only  for  a  child.  Mile.  De  Brabender  gave 
me  a  pair  of  white  gloves,  and  Mme,  Guerard  a  sunshade.  My 
mother  gave  me  a  very  pretty  turquoise  ring. 

Dressed  up  in  this  way,  looking  pretty  in  my  white  hat, 
uncomfortable  in  my  green  dress,  but  comforted  by  my  mantle, 
I  went  with  Mme.  Guerard  to  M.  Thieriy's.  My  aunt  lent  me 
her  carriage  for  the  occasion,  as  she  thought  it  would  look 
better  to  arrive  in  a  private  carriage.    Later  on  I  found  that 

94 


^^ 


SARAH    BERNHARDT    WHEN    SHE   LEFT   THE   CONSERVATORY. 


I    DECLINE    MATRIINIONY    AND    WED    ART 

this  arrival  in  my  own  carriage,  with  a  footman,  made  a  very 
bad  impression.  What  all  the  theater  people  thought,  I  never 
cared  to  consider,  and  it  seems  to  me  that  my  extreme  youth 
must  really  have  preserved  me  from  all  suspicion. 

M.  Thierry  received  me  very  kindly  and  made  a  little  non- 
sensical speech.  He  then  unfolded  a  paper,  which  he  handed 
to  Mme.  Guerard,  asking  her  to  look  at  it  and  then  to  sign  it. 
This  paper  was  my  engagement,  and  my  petite  dame  explained 
that  she  was  not  my  mother, 

"  Ah!  "  said  M.  Thierry,  getting  up,  "  then  will  you  take 
it  with  you  and  have  it  signed  by  mademoiselle's  mother?  " 

He  then  took  my  hand.  I  felt  an  instinctive  horror  at  the 
touch  of  his,  for  it  was  flabby,  and  there  was  no  life  or  sin- 
cerity in  its  grasp.  I  quickly  took  mine  away  and  looked  at 
him.  He  was  plain,  with  a  red  face,  and  eyes  that  avoided  one's 
gaze.  As  I  was  going  away  I  met  Coquelin,  who,  hearing  I  was 
there,  had  waited  to  see  me.  He  had  made  his  debut  a  year 
before  with  great  success. 

"  Well,  it's  settled,  then?  "  he  said  gayly, 

I  showed  him  the  engagement  and  shook  hands  with  him. 
I  went  quickly  down  the  stairs,  and  just  as  I  was  leaving  the 
theater,  found  myself  in  the  midst  of  a  group  in  the  door- 
way. 

"  Are  you  satisfied?  "  asked  a  gentle  voice,  which  I  recog- 
nized as  M.  Doucet's. 

"  Oh,  yes,  monsieur,  thank  you  so  much,"  I  answered. 

"  But  my  dear  child,  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  it,"  he  said. 

"  Your  competition  was  not  at  all  good,  but  nevertheless 
we  count  on  you,"  put  in  M.  Regnier,  and  then  turning  to 
Camille  Doucet  he  asked:  "  What  do  you  think,  your  Excel- 
lency? " 

"  I  think  that  this  child  will  be  a  very  great  artiste,'^  he 
replied. 

There  was  silence  for  a  moment. 

"Well,  you  have  got  a  turnout!"  exclaimed  Beauvallet 
rudely.  He  was  the  first  tragedian  of  the  Comedie,  and  the 
worst-bred  m^n  in  France  or  anywhere  else. 

95 


MEMORIES    OE    M\    EIEE 

"  Tliis  turnout  hclorif^s  to  imulfmoiselle's  aunt,"  remarked 
Cainille  Doueet,  sliakin<;  hands  witli  me  ji^ently. 

**  Oh,  well,  I  would  nmch  rather  it  belonj^ed  to  lirr  than 
to  nie,"  answered  the  tragedian. 

I  then  stepped  into  the  carriage  wliieh  had  caused  such  a 
sensation  at  the  theater,  and  drove  away.  On  reaching  home 
I  took  the  engagement  to  my  mother.  She  signed  it  without 
reading  it,  and  I  then  fully  made  up  my  mind  to  be  some  one, 
quand-meme. 

A  few  days  after  my  engagement  at  the  Comedie  Frangaise, 
my  aunt  gave  a  dinner  party.  Among  her  guests  were  the  Due 
de  Morny,  Camille  Doucet,  the  Minister  of  the  Beaux- Arts. 
M.  De  Walewski,  Rossini,  my  mother,  Mile.  De  Brabender, 
and  I.  During  the  evening  a  great  many  other  people  came. 
My  mother  had  dressed  me  very  elegantly,  and  it  was  the  fii-st 
time  I  had  worn  a  really  low  dress.  Oh,  how  uncomfortable 
I  was!  Everyone  paid  me  great  attention.  Rossini  asked  me 
to  recite  some  poetry,  and  I  consented  willingly,  glad  and  proud 
to  be  of  some  little  importance.  I  chose  Casimir  Delavigne's 
poem  "  L'ame  du  Purgatoire. " 

"  That  should  be  said  with  music  as  an  accompaniment," 
exclaimed  Rossini,  when  I  came  to  an  end.  Everyone  approved 
this  idea,  and  Walewski  said: 

"  ]\Iademoiselle  will  begin  again  and  you  could  improvise 
an  accompaniment,  cher  maitre." 

There  was  great  excitement,  and  I  at  once  began  again. 
Rossini  improvised  the  most  delightful  harmony,  which  tilled 
me  with  emotion.  ]\Iy  tears  flowed  freely  without  my  being 
conscious  of  them,  and  at  the  end  my  mother  kissed  me,  saying: 
"  This  is  the  first  time  that  you  have  really  moved  me." 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  she  adored  music,  and  it  was  Rossini's 
improvisation  that  had  moved  her. 

The  Comte  de  Keratry  was  also  present,  an  elegant  young 
Hussar,  who  paid  me  great  compliments,  and  invited  me  to  go 
and  recite  some  poetry  at  his  mother's  house. 

IMy  aunt  then  sang  a  song  which  was  ven^  much  in  vogue, 
and  had  great  success.     She  was  coquettish  and  charming  and 

96 


I    DECLINE    MATRIMONY    AND    WED    ART 

just  a  trifle  jealous  of  this  insignificant  niece  who  had  taken  up 
the  attention  of  her  admirers  for  a  few  minutes. 

When  I  returned  home  I  was  quite  another  being.  I  sat 
down,  dressed  as  I  was,  on  my  bed  and  remained  for  a  long 
time  deep  in  thought.  Hitherto  all  I  had  known  of  life  had 
been  through  my  family  and  my  work.  I  had  now  just  had  a 
glimpse  of  it  through  society,  and  I  was  struck  by  the  hypoc- 
risy of  some  of  the  people,  and  the  conceit  of  others.  I  began 
to  wonder  uneasily  what  I  should  do,  shy  and  frank  as  I  was. 
I  thought  of  my  mother.  She  did  not  do  anything,  though. 
She  was  indifferent  to  everything.  I  thought  of  my  Aunt  Ro- 
sine,  who,  on  the  contrary,  liked  to  mix  in  everything, 

I  remained  there  looking  down  on  the  ground,  my  head  in  a 
whirl,  and  feeling  very  anxious,  and  I  did  not  go  to  bed  until 
I  was  thoroughly  cold. 


97 


CHAPTER    VTI 


I   MAKE   MY    DEBUT    AND   EXIT 


K^^^i^TTE  next  few  days  passed  by  without  any  particular 
rvv'thVA^  *'vpnts.  I  was  working  hard  at  Iphigenie,  as  M. 
>;'v^^^^^  Thierry  had  told  me  I  was  to  make  my   debut   in 

^^^•^^     this  r51e. 

At  the  end  of  August  I  received  a  notice  requesting  me  to 
be  at  the  rehearsal  of  Iphigenie.  Oh,  that  first  notice,  how  it 
made  my  heart  beat!  I  could  not  sleep  at  night,  and  daylight 
did  not  come  quickly  enough  for  me.  I  kept  getting  up  to  look 
at  the  time*  It  seemed  to  me  that  the  clock  had  stopped.  I 
had  dozed,  and  I  fancied  it  was  the  same  time  as  before.  Fi- 
nally, a  streak  of  light  coming  through  the  windowpanes  was, 
I  thought,  the  triumphant  sun  illuminating  my  room.  I  got 
up  at  once,  pulled  back  the  curtains,  and  mumbled  my  role 
while  dressing. 

I  thought  of  rehearsing  with  Mme.  Devoyod,  the  first  actress 
at  the  Comedie  Franeaise  for  tragedy,  with  ^Maubant,  with 
...  I  trembled  as  I  thought  of  all  this,  for  ]\Ime.  Devoyod  was 
not  supposed  to  be  very  indulgent.  I  arrived  for  the  rehearsal 
an  hour  before  the  time.  The  stage  manager,  Davenne,  smiled 
and  asked  me  whether  I  knew  my  role. 

"  Oh,  yes!  "  I  exclaimed  with  conviction. 

"  Come  and  rehearse  it.  Would  you  like  to?  "  and  he  took 
me  to  the  stage. 

I  went  with  him  through  the  long  corridor  of  busts  which 
leads  from  the  foyer  of  the  artistes  to  the  stage.  He  told  me 
the  names  of  the  celebrities  represented  by  these  busts.  I  stood 
still  a  moment  before  that  of  Adrienne  Lecouvreur. 

98 


I    MAKE    MY    DEBUT    AND    EXIT 

"  I  love  that  artiste,^ ^  I  said. 

' '  Do  you  know  her  story  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes,  I  have  read  all  that  has  been  written  about  her." 

"  That's  quite  right,  my  child,"  said  the  worthy  man. 
"  You  ought  to  read  all  that  concerns  your  art.  I  will  lend 
you  some  very  interesting  books." 

He  took  me  on  toward  the  stage.  The  mysterious  gloom,  the 
scenery  reared  up  like  fortifications,  the  bareness  of  the  floor, 
the  endless  number  of  weights,  ropes,  trees,  friezes,  harrows 
overhead,  the  yawning  house  completely  dark,  the  silence, 
broken  by  the  creaking  of  the  floor,  and  the  vaultlike  chill  that 
one  felt — all  this  together  awed  me.  It  did  not  seem  to  me  to 
be  part  of  that  brilliant  frame  for  the  living  artistes  who  every 
night  won  the  applause  of  the  house  by  their  merriment  or 
their  sobs.  No,  I  felt  as  though  I  were  in  the  tomb  of  dead 
glories,  and  the  stage  seemed  to  me  to  be  getting  crowded  with 
the  illustrious  ghosts  of  those  whom  the  manager  had  just  men- 
tioned. With  my  highly  strung  nerves,  my  imagination,  which 
was  always  evoking  something,  now  saw  them  advance  toward 
me,  stretching  out  their  hands.  These  specters  wanted  to  take 
me  away  with  them.  I  put  my  hands  over  my  eyes  and  stood 
still. 

"  Are  you  not  well?  "  asked  M.  Davenne. 

"  Oh,  yes,  thank  you,  it  was  just  a  little  giddiness." 

His  voice  had  chased  away  the  specters,  and  I  opened  my 
eyes  and  paid  attention  to  the  worthy  man's  advice.  Book  in 
hand,  he  explained  to  me  where  I  was  to  stand,  and  my  changes 
of  place.  He  was  rather  pleased  with  my  way  of  reciting,  and 
he  taught  me  a  few  of  the  traditions.    At  the  line : 

"  Euripide  a  I'autel,  conduisez  la  victime/'  he  said:  "  Mile. 
Favart  was  very  effective  there.  ..." 

The  artistes  gradually  began  to  arrive,  grumbling  more  or 
less.  They  glanced  at  me,  and  then  rehearsed  their  scenes  with- 
out taking  any  further  notice  of  me  at  all. 

I  felt  inclined  to  cry,  but  I  was  more  vexed  than  anything 
else.  I  heard  a  few  words  that  sounded  to  me  coarse,  used  by 
one  or  another  of  the  artistes.     I  was  not  accustomed  to  such 

99 


MEMORIES    OF    MV    LIFE 

lan^ua^e,  as  at  lioiiic  cvci-yonc  was  i-atlicr  scriiijiiloiis,  and  at 
my  aunt's  a  tritlt'  atH'ected,  while  at  the  con  vent  it  is  unneces- 
sary to  say  I  luul  never  heard  a  word  that  was  out  of  i)hiee. 
It  is  true  that  I  had  been  tlirouj,^!  the  Conservatoire,  but  I  had 
not  associated  intimately  with  any  of  the  pupils,  witli  the  ex- 
ception of  Marie  Lloyd  and  Rose  Baretta,  the  elder  sister  of 
Khmehe  Baretta,  who  is  now  an  associate  of  the  Comedie  Fran- 
^aise. 

When  the  rehearsal  was  over,  it  was  decided  that  there 
should  be  another  one  at  the  same  hour  the  following  day,  in 
the  public  foyer. 

The  costume  maker  came  in  search  of  me,  as  she  wanted  to 
try  on  my  costume.  ]\Ille.  De  Brabender,  who  had  arrived  dur- 
ing the  rehearsal,  went  up  with  me  to  the  costume  room.  She 
wanted  my  arms  to  be  covered,  but  the  costume  maker  told  her 
gently  that  this  was  impossible  for  tragedy. 

A  dress  of  white  woolen  material  was  tried  on  me.  It  was 
very  ugly,  and  the  veil  was  so  stiff  that  I  refused  it.  A  wreath 
of  roses  was  tried  on,  but  this,  too,  was  so  ugly  that  I  refused 
to  wear  it. 

"  Well,  then,  mademoiselle,"  said  the  costume  maker  dryly, 
"  you  will  have  to  get  these  things  and  pay  for  them  yourself, 
as  this  is  the  costume  supplied  by  the  Comedie." 

"  Very  well,"  I  answered,  blushing,  "  I  will  get  them  my- 
self." 

On  returning  home  I  told  my  mother  my  troubles,  and,  as 
she  was  always  very  generous,  she  promptly  bought  me  a  veil 
of  white  harege  that  fell  in  beautiful,  large,  soft  folds,  and  a 
wreath  of  hedge  roses  which,  at  night,  looked  very  soft  and 
white.  She  also  ordered  me  buskins  from  the  shoemaker  cm- 
ployed  by  the  Comedie. 

The  next  thing  to  think  about  was  the  make-up  box.  For 
this  my  mother  had  recourse  to  the  mother  of  Dica  Petit,  my 
fellow  student  at  the  Conservatoire.  I  went  with  IMme.  Dica 
Petit  to  M.  Massin,  a  manufacturer  of  these  make-up  boxes. 
He  was  the  father  of  Leontine  Massin,  another  Conservatoire 
pupil. 

100 


I    MAKE    MY    DEBUT    AND    EXIT 

We  went  up  to  the  sixth  floor  of  a  house  in  the  Rue  Reamur, 
and  on  a  plain-looking  door  read  the  words:  "  Massin,  Manu- 
facturer of  Make-up  Boxes."  I  knocked  and  a  little  hunch- 
back girl  opened  the  door.  I  recognized  Leontine's  sister,  as 
she  had  come  several  times  to  the  Conservatoire. 

"  Oh,"  she  exclaimed,  *'  what  a  surprise  for  us!  Titine," 
she  then  called  out,  "  here  is  Mile.  Sarah!  " 

Leontine  ]\Iassin  came  running  out  of  the  next  room.  She 
was  a  pretty  girl,  very  gentle  and  calm  in  demeanor.  She  threw 
her  arms  round  me,  exclaiming: 

"  How  glad  I  am  to  see  you!  And  so  you  are  coming  out 
at  the  Comedie.     I  saw  it  in  the  paper." 

I  blushed  up  to  my  ears  at  the  idea  of  being  mentioned  in 
the  paper. 

"  I  am  engaged  at  the  Varietes,"  she  said,  and  then  she 
talked  away  at  such  a  rate  that  I  was  bewildered.  Mme.  Petit 
did  not  enter  into  all  this,  and  tried  in  vain  to  separate  us.  She 
had  replied  by  a  nod  and  an  indifferent  "  Thanks  "  to  Leon- 
tine's  inquiries  about  her  daughter's  health.  Finally,  when  the 
young  girl  had  finished  saying  all  she  had  to  say,  Mme.  Petit 
remarked : 

"  You  must  order  your  box;  we  have  come  here  for  that, 
you  know. ' ' 

* '  Ah !  then  you  will  find  my  father  in  his  workshop  at  the 
end  of  the  passage,  and  if  you  are  not  very  long  I  shall  still 
be  here.     I  am  going  to  rehearsal  at  the  Varietes  later  on." 

Mme.  Petit  was  furious,  for  she  did  not  like  Leontine  Massin. 

''  Don't  wait,  mademoiselle,"  she  said,  "  it  will  be  impos- 
sible for  us  to  stay  afterwards." 

Leontine  was  annoyed,  and,  shrugging  her  shoulders,  she 
turned  her  back  on  my  companion.  She  then  put  her  hat  on, 
kissed  me,  and  bowing  gravely  to  Mme.  Petit,  remarked: 

"  Good-by,  Mme.  Gros-tas,  and  I  hope  I  shall  never  see 
you  again."  She  then  ran  off,  laughing  merrily.  I  heard 
Mme.  Petit  mutter  a  few  disagreeable  words  in  Dutch,  but  I 
did  not  understand  the  meaning  of  them  at  the  time.  We  then 
went  to  the  workshop  and  found  old  Massin  at  his  workbench, 

101 


MEMOUIKS    OF    y\\    LIFE 

l)l;miii;X  some  siiuill  {)lanl<s  of  wliitc  wood.  His  hunchbar-k 
daiiKlitcr  k('i>t  coiiiinj.,'  in  juhI  out,  hutnmirijr  ^'fiyly  all  tho  time. 
The  father  was  glum  and  harassed,  and  had  an  anxious  look. 
As  soon  as  we  had  ordered  the  box  we  took  our  leave  Mnuv 
Petit  went  out  first  and  Leontine's  sister  then  put  her  hand 
into  mine  and  said  (quietly: 

"  Father  was  not  very  polite,  but  it  is  ])eeaus<'  he  is  jealous. 
He  wanted  my  sister  to  be  at  the  Theatre  Fran<:ais. " 

I  was  rather  disturbed  by  this  confidence,  and  I  had  a  vague 
idea  of  the  painful  drama  which  was  acting  so  differently  on 
the  various  members  of  this  humble  home. 

On  September  1,  1862,  the  day  I  was  to  make  ray  debut,  I 
was  in  the  Rue  Duphot  looking  at  the  theatrical  posters.  They 
used  to  be  put  up  then  jiLst  at  the  corner  of  the  Rue  Duphot 
and  the  Rue  St.  Honore.  On  the  poster  of  the  Comedie  Fran- 
caise  I  read  the  words : ' '  Debut  of  Mile.  Sarah  Bernhardt. "... 
I  have  no  idea  how  long  I  stood  there,  fascinated  by  the  letters 
of  my  name,  but  I  remember  that  it  seemed  to  me  as  though 
every  person  who  stopped  to  read  the  poster  looked  at  me  after- 
wards, and  I  blushed  to  the  very  roots  of  my  hair. 

At  five  o'clock  I  went  to  the  theater.  I  had  a  dressing-room 
on  the  top  floor  which  I  shared  with  Mile.  Coblance.  This  room 
was  on  the  other  side  of  the  Rue  de  Richelieu,  in  a  house  rented 
by  the  Comedie  Francaise.  A  small  covered  bridge  over  the 
street  served  as  a  passage  and  means  of  communication  for  us 
to  reach  the  theater. 

I  was  a  tremendously  long  time  dressing,  and  did  not 
know  whether  I  looked  nice  or  not.  My  petite  dame  thought 
I  was  too  pale,  and  Mile.  De  Brabender  considered  that  1  had 
too  much  color.  ]\Iy  mother  w^as  to  go  direct  to  her  seat  in  the 
theater,  and  Aunt  Rosine  was  away  in  the  country. 

When  we  were  told  that  the  play  was  about  to  commence 
I  broke  out  into  a  cold  perspiration  from  head  to  foot,  and  felt 
ready  to  faint  away.  I  went  downstairs  trembling,  tottering, 
and  my  teeth  chattering.  When  I  arrived  on  the  stage  the 
curtain  was  being  raised.  That  curtain,  which  was  raised  so 
slowly  and  solemnly,  was,  to  me,  like  the  veil  being  torn  which 

102 


I    MAKE    MY    DEBUT    AND    EXIT 

was  to  let  me  have  a  glimpse  of  my  future.  A  deep,  gentle  voice 
made  me  turn  round.  It  was  Provost,  my  first  professor,  who 
had  come  to  encourage  me.  I  greeted  him  warmly,  so  glad 
was  I  to  see  him  again.  Samson  was  there,  too ;  I  believe  that 
he  was  playing  that  night  in  one  of  Moliere's  comedies.  The 
two  men  were  very  different.  Provost  was  tall,  his  silvery  hair 
was  blown  about,  and  he  had  a  droll  face.  Samson  was  small, 
precise,  dainty,  his  shiny  white  hair  curled  firmly  and  closely 
round  his  head.  Both  men  had  been  moved  by  the  same  sen- 
timent of  protection  for  the  poor,  fragile,  nervous  girl,  who 
was,  nevertheless,  so  full  of  hope.  Both  of  them  knew  my  zeal 
for  work,  my  obstinate  will,  which  was  always  struggling  for 
the  victory  over  my  physical  weakness.  They  knew  that  my 
device  "  Quand-meme  "  had  not  been  adopted  by  me  merely  by 
chance,  but  that  it  was  the  outcome  of  a  deliberate  exercise 
of  will  power  on  my  part.  My  mother  had  told  them  how  I  had 
chosen  this  device  at  the  age  of  nine,  after  a  formidable  jump 
over  a  ditch  which  no  one  could  jump,  and  which  my  young 
cousin  had  dared  me  to  attempt.  I  had  hurt  my  face,  broken 
my  wrist,  and  was  in  pain  all  over.  While  I  was  being  carried 
home  I  exclaimed  furiously:  **  Yes,  I  would  do  it  again,  quand- 
meme,  if  anyone  dared  me  again.  And  I  will  always  do  what 
I  want  to  do  all  my  life."  In  the  evening  of  that  day,  my 
aunt,  who  was  grieved  to  see  me  in  such  pain,  asked  me  what 
would  give  me  any  pleasure.  My  poor  little  body  was  all 
bandaged,  but  I  jumped  with  joy  at  this,  and  quite  consoled  I 
whispered  in  a  coaxing  way:  "  I  should  like  to  have  some  writ- 
ing paper  with  a  motto  of  my  own." 

My  mother  asked  me  rather  slyly  what  my  motto  was.  I 
did  not  answer  for  a  minute,  and  then,  as  they  were  all  waiting 
quietly,  I  uttered  such  a  furious  "  Quand-meme  "  that  my 
Aunt  Faure  started  back  muttering,  *'  What  a  terrible  child!  " 

Samson  and  Provost  reminded  me  of  this  story  in  order  to 
give  me  courage ;  but  my  ears  were  buzzing  so  that  I  could  not 
listen  to  them.  Provost  heard  my  catchword  on  the  stage  and 
pushed  me  gently  forward.  I  made  my  entry  and  hurried  to- 
ward Agamemnon,  my  father.     I  did  not  want  to  leave  him 

103 


MEMOUIES    OF    M\     \AVK 

a<;ain,  as  I  felt  I  must  have  some  one  to  hold  r)n  to.  I  then 
rushed  to  my  mother,  Clytcmncstrc.  I  got  through  my  part, 
and  on  leaving  the  stage  I  tore  up  to  my  room  and  began  to 
undress. 

Mme.  Guerard  was  terrified,  and  asked  me  if  I  was  mad. 
I  had  only  played  in  one  scene  and  there  were  four  more.  I 
realized  then  that  it  would  really  be  dangerous  to  give  way 
to  my  nerves.  I  had  recourse  to  my  own  motto,  and,  standing  in 
front  of  the  glass  gazing  into  my  own  eyes,  I  ordered  myself 
to  be  calm  and  to  conquer  myself,  and  my  nerves,  in  a  state  of 
confusion,  yielded  to  my  brain.  I  got  through  the  play,  but  was 
very  insignificant  in  my  part. 

The  next  morning  my  mother  sent  for  me  early.  She  had 
been  looking  at  Sarcey's  article  in  L'Opinion  Natioyinh,  and 
she  now  read  me  the  following  lines.  ..."  Mile.  Bernhardt, 
who  made  her  debut  yesterday  in  the  role  of  Iphigenie,  is  a  tall, 
pretty  girl  with  a  slender  figure  and  a  very  pleasing  expression, 
the  upper  part  of  her  face  is  remarkably  beautiful.  She  holds 
herself  well,  and  her  enunciation  is  perfectly  clear.  This  is 
all  that  can  be  said  for  her  at  present." 

' '  The  man  is  an  idiot, ' '  said  my  mother,  drawing  me  to  her. 
"  You  were  charming." 

She  then  prepared  a  little  cup  of  coffee  for  me,  and  made 
it  with  cream.  I  was  happy,  but  not  completely  so.  When 
my  godfather  arrived  in  the  afternoon,  he  exclaimed: 

"  Good  heavens!  my  poor  child,  what  thin  arms  you  have!  " 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  people  had  laughed,  and  I  had  heard 
them,  when,  stretching  out  my  arms,  I  had  said  the  famoiLs 
lines  in  which  Favart  had  made  her  famous  **  effect  "  that  was 
now  a  tradition.  I  certainly  had  made  no  "  effect."  unless 
the  smiles  caused  by  my  long,  thin  arms  can  be  reckoned  such. 

My  second  appearance  was  in  Valerie,  when  I  did  have  some 
slight  success. 

My  third  appearance  at  the  Comedie  resulted  in  the  follow- 
ing effusion  from  the  pen  of  the  same  Sarcey: 

L'Opi)iio7i  Natioywle,  September  12th  ..."  The  same  even- 
ing '  Les  Femmes  Savantes  '  was  given.     This  was  Mile.  Bern- 

104 


SARAH   BERNHARDT   AT   THE   TIME  OF  HER  DEBUT   IN 
"LES   FEMMES   SAVANTES." 


I    MAKE    MY    DEBUT    AND    EXIT 

hardt's  third  appearance,  and  she  took  the  role  of  Henriette. 
She  was  just  as  pretty  and  insignificant  in  this  as  in  that  of 
Jimie  (he  had  made  a  mistake,  as  it  was  Iphigenie  I  had  played) 
and  of  Valerie,  both  of  which  roles  had  been  intrusted  to  her 
previously.  This  performance  was  a  very  poor  affair,  and  gives 
rise  to  reflections  by  no  means  gay.  That  Mile.  Bernhardt 
should  be  insignificant  does  not  so  much  matter.  She  is  a 
debutante,  and  among  the  number  presented  to  us  it  is  only 
natural  that  some  should  be  failures.  The  pitiful  part  is, 
though,  that  the  comedians  playing  with  her  were  not  much 
better  than  she  was,  and  they  are  Societaires  of  the  Theatre 
Francais.  All  that  they  had  more  than  their  young  comrade 
was  a  greater  familiarity  with  the  boards.  They  are  just  as 
Mile.  Bernhardt  may  be  in  twenty  years'  time,  if  she  stays 
at  the  Comedie  Frangaise." 

I  did  not  stay  there,  though ;  for  one  of  those  nothings  which 
change  a  whole  life  changed  mine.  I  had  entered  the  Comedie 
expecting  to  remain  there  always.  I  had  heard  my  godfather 
explain  to  my  mother  all  about  the  various  stages  of  my  career. 

"  The  child  will  have  so  much  during  the  first  five  years," 
he  said,^ ' '  and  so  much  afterwards,  and  then  at  the  end  of  thirty 
years  she  will  have  the  pension  given  to  Associates,  that  is,  if 
she  ever  becomes  an  Associate."  He  appeared  to  have  his 
doubts  about  this. 

My  sister  Regina  was  the  cause,  though  quite  involuntarily 
this  time,  of  the  drama  which  made  me  leave  the  Comedie.  It 
was  Lloliere's  anniversary,  and  all  the  artistes  of  the  Frangais 
had  to  salute  the  bust  of  the  great  writer,  according  to  the 
tradition  of  the  theater.  It  was  to  be  my  first  appearance  at 
a  "  ceremony  "  and  my  little  sister,  on  hearing  me  tell  about 
it  at  home,  besought  me  to  take  her  to  it. 

My  mother  gave  me  permission  to  do  so,  and  our  old  Mar- 
guerite was  to  accompany  us.  All  the  members  of  the  Comedie 
were  assembled  in  the  foyer.  The  men  and  women,  dressed  in 
different  costumes,  all  w^ore  the  famous  doctor's  cloak.  The  sig- 
nal was  given  that  the  ceremony  was  about  to  commence,  and 
everyone  hurried  to  the  corridor  where  the  busts  were.     I  was 

105 


MEMORIES    OF    MY    LIFE 

holding  my  little  sistei-'s  luind,  and  just  in  front  of  ns  was 
the  very  I'at  and  very  solemn  Mme.  Nathalie.  She  wjls  a  Socie- 
taire  of  the  Coniedie,  old,  spiteful,  and  surly. 

Rejyina,  in  tryin^^  to  avoid  the  train  of  Marie  Roprer's  cloak, 
stepped  on  to  Nathalie's,  and  the  latter  turned  round  and  p:ave 
the  eliild  sueh  a  violent  push  that  she  was  knocked  aj^ainst  a 
column  holdinfT  a  bust.  Regina  screamed  out,  and,  as  she  turned 
back  to  me,  I  saw  that  her  pretty  face  was  bleerlinjj:. 

"  You  miserable  creature!  "  I  called  out  to  the  fat  woman, 
and,  as  she  turned  round  to  reply,  I  slapped  her  in  the  face. 
She  proceeded  to  faint;  there  was  a  jjreat  tumult,  and  an  up- 
roar of  indignation,  approval,  stifled  laughter,  satisfied  re- 
venge, pity  from  those  artistes  who  were  mothers,  for  the  poor 
child,  etc.  Two  groups  were  formed,  one  around  the  wretched 
Nathalie,  who  was  still  in  her  swoon,  and  the  other  around  lit- 
tle Regina.  And  the  different  aspect  of  these  two  groups  was 
rather  strange.  Around  Nathalie  were  cold,  solemn-looking  men 
and  women  fanning  the  fat,  helpless  lump  with  their  handker- 
chiefs or  fans.  A  young,  but  severe-looking  Societaire  was 
sprinkling  her  with  drops  of  water.  Nathalie,  on  feeling  this, 
roused  up  suddenly,  put  her  hands  over  her  face  and  muttered 
in  a  far-away  voice : 

"  How  stupid!    You'll  spoil  my  make-up!  " 

The  younger  men  were  stooping  over  Regina,  washing  her 
pretty  face,  and  the  child  was  saying  in  her  broken  voice: 

"  I  did  not  do  it  on  purpose,  sister,  I  am  certain  I  didn't. 
She's  an  old  cow,  and  she  just  kicked  for  nothing  at  all!  " 

Regina  was  a  fair-haired  seraph  who  might  have  made  the 
angels  envious,  for  she  had  the  most  ideal  and  poetical  beauty 
— but  her  language  was  by  no  means  choice,  and  nothing  in 
the  world  could  change  it.  Her  coarse  speech  made  the  friendly 
group  burst  out  laughing,  while  all  the  members  of  the  enemy's 
camp  shrugged  their  shoulders.  Bressant,  who  was  the  most 
charming  of  the  comedians  and  a  general  favorite,  came  up  to 
me  and  said : 

"  We  must  arrange  this  little  matter,  mademoiselle,  for 
Nathalie's  short  arms  are  really  very  long.     Between  ourselves 

106 


I    MAKE    MY    DEBUT    AND    EXIT 

you  were  a  trifle  hasty,  but  I  like  that,  and  then  that  child 
is  so  droll  and  pretty, ' '  he  added,  looking  at  my  little  sister. 

The  house  was  stamping  with  impatience,  for  this  little 
scene  had  caused  twenty  minutes'  delay,  and  we  were  obliged 
to  go  on  to  the  stage  at  once.  Marie  Roger  kissed  me,  saying: 
"  You  are  a  plucky  little  comrade!  "  Rose  Baretta  drew  me 
to  her,  murmuring:  "  How  dared  you  do  it!  She  is  a  Socie- 
tairel  " 

As  for  me,  I  was  not  very  clear  about  what  I  had  done, 
but  my  instinct  warned  me  that  I  should  pay  dearly  for  it. 

The  following  day  I  received  a  letter  from  the  manager 
asking  me  to  call  at  the  Comedie  at  one  o'clock  about  a  matter 
concerning  me  privately.  I  had  been  crying  all  night  long, 
more  through  nervous  excitement  than  from  remorse,  and  I  was 
more  particularly  annoyed  at  the  idea  of  the  attacks  I  should 
have  to  endure  from  my  own  family.  I  did  not  let  my  mother 
see  the  letter,  for  from  the  day  that  I  had  entered  the  Comedie 
she  had  given  me  full  liberty.  I  received  my  letters  now  direct, 
without  her  supervision,  and  I  went  about  alone. 

At  one  o'clock  precisely  I  was  shown  into  the  manager's 
office.  M.  Thierry,  his  nose  more  congested  than  ever,  and  his 
eyes  more  crafty,  preached  me  a  deadly  sermon,  blamed  my 
want  of  discipline,  absence  of  respect,  and  scandalous  conduct, 
and  finished  his  pitiful  harangue  by  advising  me  to  beg  Mme. 
Nathalie's  pardon. 

"  I  have  asked  her  to  come,"  he  added,  "  and  you  must 
apologize  to  her  before  three  Societaires  belonging  to  the  Com- 
mittee. Is  she  consents  to  forgive  you  the  Committee  will  then 
consider  whether  to  fine  you  or  to  cancel  your  engagement." 

I  did  not  reply  for  a  few  minutes.  I  thought  of  my  mother 
in  distress,  my  godfather  laughing  in  his  bourgeois  way,  and  my 
Aimt  Faure  triumphant,  with  her  usual  phrase:  *'  That  child  is 
terrible!  "  I  thought,  too,  of  my  beloved  Brabender  with  her 
hands  clasped,  her  mustache  drooping  sadly,  her  small  eyes  full 
of  tears,  so  touching  in  their  mute  supplication.  I  could  hear  my 
gentle,  timid  Mme.  Guerard  arguing  with  everyone,  so  coura- 
geous she  was  always  in  her  confidence  in  my  future. 

107 


MEMORIES    OF    M\     LIFE 

"  Well,  Miademoiselle?  "  said  M.  Thierry  curtly. 

I  looked  at  him  without  spoakirifr  and  he  began  to  get  im- 
patient. 

"  I  will  go  and  ask  Mme.  Nathalie  to  come  here,"  he  said, 
"  and  I  beg  you  will  do  your  part  as  (juiekly  as  possible,  for  I 
have  other  things  to  attend  to  than  to  put  your  blunders  right." 

"  Oh,  no,  do  not  fetch  Mme.  Nathalie,"  I  said  at  last,  "  I 
shall  not  apologize  to  her.  I  will  leave,  I  will  cancel  my  en- 
gagement at  once." 

He  was  stupefied,  and  his  arrogance  melted  away  in  pity  for 
the  ungovernable,  willful  child  who  was  about  to  ruin  her  whole 
future  for  the  sake  of  a  question  of  self-esteem.  He  was  at  once 
gentler  and  more  polite.  He  asked  me  to  sit  dowm,  which  he  had 
not  hitherto  done,  and  he  sat  down  himself  opposite  to  me  and 
spoke  to  me  gently  about  the  advantages  of  the  Comedie,  and  of 
the  danger  that  there  would  be  for  me  in  leaving  that  illustrious 
theater  which  had  done  me  the  honor  of  admitting  me.  He  gave 
me  a  hundred  other  very  good,  wise  reasons  which  softened  me. 
When  he  saw  the  effect  he  had  made,  he  wanted  to  send  for  i\Ime. 
Nathalie,  but  I  roused  up  then  like  a  little  wild  animal. 

"  Oh,  don't  let  her  come  here,  I  should  slap  her  again!  "  I 
exclaimed. 

"  Well,  then,  I  must  ask  3'our  mother  to  come,"  he  said. 

"  My  mother  would  never  come,"  I  replied. 

* '  Then  I  will  go  and  call  on  her. ' ' 

"  It  Avill  be  quite  useless,"  I  persisted,  "  my  mother  has  given 
me  my  liberty,  and  I  am  quite  free  to  lead  my  own  life.  I  alone 
am  responsible  for  all  that  I  do." 

"  Well,  then,  mademoiselle,  I  will  think  it  over,"  he  said  ris- 
ing to  show  me  that  the  interview^  was  at  an  end.  I  went  back 
home  determined  to  say  nothing  to  my  mother,  but  my  little 
sister  when  questioned  about  her  wound  had  told  ever^-thing  in 
her  own  way,  exaggerating,  if  possible,  the  brutality  of  ]\Ime. 
Nathalie  and  the  audacity  of  what  I  had  done.  Rosa  Baretta, 
too,  had  been  to  see  me  and  had  burst  into  tears,  assuring  my 
mother  that  my  engagement  would  be  canceled.  The  whole 
family  was  very  much  excited  and  distressed  when  I  arrived,  and 

108 


I    MAKE    MY    DEBUT    AND    EXIT 

when  they  began  to  argue  with  me  it  made  me  still  more  nervous. 
I  did  not  take  calmly  the  reproaches  which  one  and  another  of 
them  addressed  to  me,  and  I  was  not  at  all  willing  to  follow  their 
advice.     I  went  to  my  room  and  locked  myself  in. 

The  following  day  no  one  spoke  to  me  and  I  went  up  to  ]\Ime. 
Guerard  to  be  comforted  and  consoled. 

Several  days  passed  by  and  I  had  nothing  to  do  at  the  theater. 
Finally,  one  morning,  I  received  a  notice  requesting  me  to  be 
present  for  the  reading  of  a  play.  It  was  "  Dolores,"  by  M.  De 
Bornier.  This  was  the  first  time  I  had  been  asked  to  the  reading 
of  a  new  piece.  I  was  evidently  to  have  the  creation  of  a  role. 
All  my  sorrows  were  at  once  dispersed  like  a  cloud  of  butterflies. 
I  told  my  mother  of  my  joy,  and  she  naturally  concluded  that  as 
I  was  asked  to  go  to  a  reading,  my  engagement  was  not  to  be 
canceled  and  I  was  not  to  be  asked  again  to  apologize  to  Mme. 
Nathalie. 

I  went  to  the  theater,  and  to  my  utter  surprise  I  received  from 
M.  Davennes  the  role  of  Dolores,  the  chief  part  in  Bornier 's  play. 
I  knew  that  Favart,  who  should  have  had  this  role,  was  not  well, 
but  there  were  other  artistes  for  it,  and  I  could  not  get  over  my 
Joy  and  surprise.  Nevertheless,  I  felt  somewhat  uneasy.  A  ter- 
rible presentiment  has  always  warned  me  of  any  troubles  about 
to  come  upon  me. 

I  had  been  rehearsing  for  five  days  when  one  morning,  on 
going  upstairs,  I  suddenly  found  myself  face  to  face  with  Natha- 
lie, seated  under  Gerome's  portrait  of  Rachel,  known  as  "  The 
Red  Pimento."  I  did  not  know  whether  to  go  downstairs  again 
or  to  pass  by.     My  hesitation  was  noticed  by  the  spiteful  woman. 

"  Oh,  you  can  go  by,  mademoiselle,"  she  said.  "  I  have  for- 
given you,  as  I  have  avenged  myself.  The  role  that  you  like  so 
much  is  not  to  be  left  to  you  after  all." 

I  went  by  without  uttering  a  word.  I  was  thunderstruck  by 
her  speech,  which  I  guessed  would  prove  true. 

I  did  not  mention  this  incident  to  anyone,  but  continued  re- 
hearsing. It  was  on  Tuesday  that  Nathalie  had  spoken  to  me, 
and  on  Friday  I  was  disappointed  to  hear  that  Davennes  was  not 
there  and  that  there  was  to  be  no  rehearsal.     Just  as  I  was  get- 

109 


MEMORIES    OF    MY    LIFE 

tinj;:  inlo  my  cab  the  liall  porter  ran  out  to  give  me  a  letter  from 
Daveiines.  Tlie  {xioi-  man  had  not  veutui-ed  to  come  himself  and 
give  me  the  news,  wiiieh  he  was  sure  would  be  so  painful  to  me. 

He  explained  to  me  in  his  letter  that  (jn  account  of  my  ex- 
treme youth — the  importance  of  the  role — such  responsibility  for 
such  young  shouldei-s — as  Mme.  P^'avart  had  recovered  from  her 
illness,  it  was  wiser,  etc.  I  finished  reading  the  letter  through 
blinding  tears,  but  very  soon  anger  took  the  place  of  grief.  I 
ruslied  back  again  and  up  to  the  manager's  office.  lie  could  not 
see  me  just  then,  but  I  said  I  would  wait.  At  the  end  of  an  hour, 
thoroughly  impatient,  taking  no  notice  of  the  office  boy  and  the 
secretary,  who  wanted  to  prevent  my  entering,  I  opened  the  door 
of  M.  Thierry's  office  and  walked  in.  I  was  desperate,  and  all 
that  anger  with  injustice  and  fury  with  falsehood  could  inspire 
me  with,  I  let  him  have  in  a  stream  of  eloquence  only  interrupted 
by  my  sobs.  The  manager  gazed  at  me  in  bewilderment.  He 
could  not  conceive  of  such  daring  and  such  violence  in  a  girl  so 
young. 

AVhen  at  last,  thoroughly  exhausted,  I  sank  down  on  an  arm- 
chair, he  tried  to  calm  me,  but  all  in  vain. 

' '  I  will  leave  at  once, ' '  I  said.  ' '  Give  me  back  my  engage- 
ment and  I  will  send  you  back  mine." 

Finally,  tired  of  argument  and  persuasion,  he  called  his 
secretary  in,  gave  him  the  necessary  orders,  and  the  latter  soon 
brought  in  my  engagement. 

"  Here  is  your  mother's  signature,  mademoiselle.  I  leave 
you  free  to  bring  it  me  back  Avithin  forty-eight  hours.  After 
that  time  if  I  do  not  receive  it  I  shall  consider  that  you  are  no 
longer  a  member  of  the  theater.  But,  believe  me,  you  are  acting 
unwisely.     Think  it  over  within  the  next  forty-eight  hours." 

I  did  not  answer  but  went  out  of  his  office.  That  very  even- 
ing I  sent  back  to  M.  Thierry  the  engagement  bearing  his  sig- 
nature and  tore  up  the  one  with  that  of  my  mother. 

I  had  left  Moliere's  Theater  and  was  not  to  re-enter  it  until 
twelve  years  later. 


110 


CHAPTER    VIII 


CASTLES  IN   SPAIN 


^niS  proceeding  of  mine  was  certainly  violently  de- 
cisive, and  it  completely  upset  my  home  life.  I  was 
not  happy  from  this  time  forth  among  my  own 
people,  as  I  was  continually  being  blamed  for  my  vio- 
lence. Irritating  remarks  with  a  double  meaning  were  con- 
stantly being  made  by  my  aunt  and  my  little  sisters.  My 
godfather,  w^hom  I  had  once  f^r  all  requested  to  mind  his  own 
business,  no  longer  dared  to  attack  me  openly,  but  he  influenced 
my  mother  against  me.  There  was  no  longer  any  peace  for  me 
except  at  Mme.  Guerard's,  and  so  I  was  constantly  with  her. 
I  enjoyed  helping  her  in  her  domestic  affairs.  She  taught  me  to 
make  cakes,  chocolate,  and  scrambled  eggs.  All  this  gave  me 
something  else  to  think  about,  and  I  soon  recovered  my  gayety. 

One  morning  there  was  something  very  mysterious  about  my 
mother.  She  kept  looking  at  the  clock  and  seemed  uneasy  be- 
cause my  godfather,  who  lunched  and  dined  with  us  every  day, 
had  not  arrived. 

"  It's  very  strange,"  my  mother  said,  "  for  last  night  after 
whist  he  said  he  should  be  with  us  this  morning  before  luncheon. 
It's  very  strange  indeed." 

She  was  usually  calm,  but  she  kept  coming  in  and  out  of  the 
room,  and  when  Marguerite  put  her  head  in  at  the  door  to  ask 
whether  she  should  serve  the  luncheon,  my  mother  told  her  to 
wait. 

Finally,  the  bell  rang,  startling  my  mother  and  Jeanne.  My 
little  sister  was  evidently  in  the  secret. 

Ill 


MEMORIES    OF    MV    TJFE 

"  Well,  it's  settled!  "  exclaimed  my  godfather,  shaking  the 
snow  from  his  hat.     "  Hero,  read  that,  you  self-willed  Kirl." 

lie  handed  me  a  Icltei-  stam[)ed  with  the  words  ''Theatre  du 
Gymnase.^^  It  was  fi-om  IMontigny,  the  manager  at  this  theater, 
to  M.  De  rjerhois,  a  friend  of  my  "xodfather's,  whom  I  knew 
very  well.  The  letter  was  very  friendly,  as  far  as  M.  De  Oer- 
bois  was  concerned,  but  it  finished  with  the  following  words: 
"  I  will  engage  your  protegfe  in  order  to  be  agreeable  to  you 
.  .  .  but  she  aj)i)ears  to  me  to  have  a  vile  temper." 

I  blushed  as  I  read  these  lines  and  I  thought  my  godfather 
was  wanting  in  tact,  as  he  might  have  given  me  real  delight  and 
avoided  wounding  me  in  this  way;  but  he  w^as  the  clumsiest- 
minded  man  that  ever  lived.  My  mother  seemed  very  much 
pleased,  so  that  I  kissed  her  pretty  face,  and  thanked  my  god- 
father. Oh,  how  I  loved  kissing  that  pearly  face,  which  was  al- 
ways so  cool,  and  always  slightly  dewy!  When  I  was  a  little 
child  I  used  to  ask  her  to  play  at  butterfly  on  my  cheeks  with 
her  long  lashes,  and  she  would  put  her  face  close  to  mine  and 
open  and  shut  her  eyes,  tickling  my  cheeks  while  I  lay  back 
breathless  with  delight. 

The  following  day  I  went  to  the  Gymnase.  I  was  kept  wait- 
ing for  some  little  time,  together  with  about  fifty  other  girls.  ]\I. 
Monval,  a  cynical  old  man  who  was  stage  manager  and  almost 
general  manager,  then  interviewed  us.  I  liked  him  at  first,  be- 
cause he  was  like  M.  Guerard,  but  I  very  soon  disliked  him.  His 
way  of  looking  at  me,  of  speaking  to  me,  and  of  taking  stock  of 
me  generally,  roused  my  ire  at  once.  I  answered  his  questions 
curtly  and  our  conversation,  which  seemed  likely  to  take  an 
aggressive  turn,  was  cut  short  by  the  arrival  of  M,  Montigny,  the 
manager. 

"  Which  of  you  is  Mile.  Sarah  Bernhardt?  "  he  asked. 

I  at  once  rose  and  he  continued : 

"  Will  you  come  into  my  office,  mademoiselle?  " 

Montigny  had  been  an  actor,  and  was  plump  and  good- 
humored.  He  appeared  to  be  somewhat  infatuated  with  his  own 
personality,  with  his  ego,  but  that  did  not  matter  to  me.  After 
some  friendly  conversation,  he  preached  a  little  to  me  about  my 

112 


CASTLES    IN    SPAIN 

outburst  at  the  Comedie  and  made  me  a  great  many  promises 
about  the  roles  he  should  give  me.  He  prepared  my  engagement 
and  gave  it  to  me  to  take  home  for  my  mother's  signature  and 
that  of  my  family. 

"  I  am  quite  free,"  I  said  to  him,  "  so  that  my  own  signature 
is  all  that  is  required." 

"  Oh,  very  good !  "  he  said,  ''  but  what  nonsense  to  give  such 
a  self-willed  girl  full  liberty.  Your  parents  did  not  do  you  a 
good  turn  by  that. ' ' 

I  was  just  on  the  point  of  replying  that  what  my  parents 
chose  to  do  did  not  concern  him,  but  I  held  my  peace,  signed  the 
engagement,  and  hurried  home  feeling  very  joyful, 

Llontigny  kept  his  word  at  first.  He  let  me  understudy  Vic- 
toria Lafontaine,  a  young  artiste  very  much  in  vogue  just  1i)ien, 
who  had  the  most  delightful  talent.  I  played  in  "La  Maison 
sans  Enf ants, ' '  and  I  took  her  role  at  a  moment 's  notice  in  "  Le 
Demon  du  Jeu,"  a  piece  which  had  great  success.  I  was  fairly 
good  in  both  pieces,  but  Montigny,  in  spite  of  my  entreaties, 
never  came  to  see  me  in  them,  and  the  spiteful  stage  manager 
played  me  various  tricks.  I  used  to  feel  a  sullen  anger  stirring 
within  me  and  I  struggled  with  myself  as  much  as  possible  to 
keep  my  nerves  calm. 

One  evening,  on  leaving  the  theater,  a  notice  was  handed  to 
me  requesting  me  to  be  present  at  the  reading  of  a  play  the  fol- 
lowing day.  Montigny  had  promised  me  a  good  role,  and  I  fell 
asleep  that  night  lulled  by  fairies  who  carried  me  off  into  the  land 
of  glory  and  success.  On  arriving  at  the  theater  I  found 
Blanche  Pierson  and  Celine  Montalant  already  there.  Two  of 
the  prettiest  creatures  that  God  has  been  pleased  to  create, 
the  one  as  fair  as  the  rising  sun,  and  the  other  as  dark  as 
a  starry  night,  for  she  was  brilliant  looking  in  spite  of  her 
black  hair.  There  were  other  women  there,  too,  very,  very 
pretty  ones. 

The  play  to  be  read  was  entitled,  "  Un  Mari  qui  Lance  sa 

Femme,"  and  it  was  by  Raymond  Deslandes.     I  listened  to  it 

without  any  great  pleasure  and  I  thought  it  stupid.     I  waited 

anxiously  to  see  what  role  was  to  be  given  to  me,  and  I  discovered 

9  113 


MEMORIES    OF    MV    TJFE 

this  only  too  soon.  It  was  a  certain  Princess  Dimchinka,  a  frivo- 
lous, foolish,  lan^'hinj;  individual,  who  was  always  oatin^r  or  danc- 
ill<,^  I  (lid  not  like  this  role  at  all.  I  was  very  inexperienced  on 
the  stajre  and  my  timidity  made  me  rather  awkward.  Then,  too, 
I  had  not  worked  for  three  years  with  such  persistency  and  con- 
viction to  create  now  the  role  of  an  idiotic  woman  in  an  imbecile 
play.  I  was  in  despair,  and  the  wildest  ideas  came  into  my  head. 
I  wanted  to  give  np  the  sta^re  and  ^o  into  business.  I  spoke  of 
this  to  our  old  family  friend,  Meydieu,  who  was  so  unbearable. 
He  approved  of  my  idea,  and  wanted  me  to  take  a  shop,  a  con- 
fectioner's, on  the  Boulevard  des  Italiens.  This  became  a  fixed 
idea  with  the  worthy  man.  lie  loved  sweets  himself,  and  he 
kiu'w  lots  of  recipes  for  kinds  that  were  not  generally  known, 
and  which  he  wanted  to  introduce.  I  remember  one  kind  that  he 
wanted  to  call  "  ho)ihon  »r^re."  It  was  a  mixture  of  chocolate 
and  essence  of  coffee  to  be  rolled  into  grilled  licorice  root.  It 
was  like  black  praline  and  was  extremely  good.  I  was  very  per- 
sistent in  this  idea  at  first,  and  went  with  ^leydieu  to  look  at  a 
shop,  but  when  he  showed  me  the  little  flat  over  it  where  I  should 
have  to  live,  it  upset  me  so  much  that  I  gave  up  forever  the  idea 
of  business. 

I  Avent  every  day  to  the  rehearsal  of  the  stupid  piece  and  was 
bad-tempered  all  the  time.  Finally,  the  first  performance  took 
place,  and  my  part  was  neither  a  success  nor  a  failure.  I  simply 
was  not  noticed,  and  at  night  my  mother  remarked : 

"  My  poor  child,  you  were  ridiculous  in  your  Russian  prin- 
cess role  and  I  was  very  much  grieved !  ' ' 

I  did  not  answer  at  all,  but  I  should  honestly  have  liked  to 
kill  myself.  I  slept  very  badly  that  night  and  toward  six  in  the 
morning  I  rushed  up  to  Mme.  Guerard's.  I  asked  her  to  give  me 
some  laudanum,  but  she  refused.  When  she  saw  that  I  really 
wanted  it,  the  poor,  dear  woman  understood  my  idea. 

''  AVell,  then,"  I  said,  "  swear  by  your  children  that  you  will 
not  tell  anyone  what  I  am  going  to  do,  and  then  I  will  not  kill 
myself." 

A  sudden  idea  had  just  come  into  my  mind,  and  without 
weighing  it,  I  wanted  to  carry  it  out  at  once.    She  promised,  and 

114 


CASTLES    IN    SPAIN 

I  then  told  her  that  I  should  go  at  once  to  Spain,  as  I  had  wanted 
to  see  that  country  for  a  long  time. 

"Goto  Spain!  "  she  exclaimed.     "  With  whom,  and  when?  " 

' '  With  the  money  I  have  saved, ' '  I  answered,  ' '  and  this  very 
morning.  Everyone  is  asleep  at  home.  I  shall  go  and  pack  my 
trunk  and  start  at  once  with  you !  ' ' 

"  No,  no,  I  cannot  go!  "  exclaimed  Mme.  Guerard,  nearly  be- 
side herself.  "  There  is  my  husband  to  think  of  and,  then,  too, 
I  have  my  children." 

Her  little  girl  was  scarcely  two  years  old  at  that  time. 

"  Well,  then,  ma  petite  dame,  find  me  some  one  to  go  with 
me." 

"  I  do  not  know  anyone,"  she  answered,  crying  in  her  ex- 
citement. "  My  dear  little  Sarah,  give  up  such  an  idea,  I  be- 
seech you." 

But  by  this  time  it  was  a  fixed  idea  with  me  and  I  was  very 
determined  about  it.  I  went  downstairs,  packed  my  trunk,  and 
then  returned  to  Mme.  Guerard 's.  I  had  wrapped  up  a  pewter 
fork  in  paper  and  this  I  threw  against  one  of  the  panes  of  glass  in 
a  skylight  window  opposite.  The  window  was  opened  abruptly 
and  the  sleepy,  angry  face  of  a  young  woman  appeared.  I  made 
a  trumpet  of  my  two  hands  and  called  out : 

' '  Caroline,  will  you  start  with  me  at  once  to  Spain  ?  ' ' 

The  bewildered  expression  on  the  young  woman 's  face  showed 
that  she  had  not  comprehended  what  I  had  said,  but  she  replied 
at  once: 

"  I  am  coming,  mademoiselle."  She  then  closed  her  window 
and  ten  minutes  later  Caroline  was  tapping  at  the  door.  Mme. 
Guerard  had  sunk  down  aghast  in  an  armchair.  M.  Guerard 
had  asked  several  times  from  his  bedroom  what  was  going  on. 

"  Sarah  is  here,"  his  wife  had  replied;  **  I  will  tell  you  later 
on." 

Caroline  did  dressmaking  by  the  day  at  Mme.  Guerard 's  and 
she  had  offered  her  services. to  me  as  lady's  maid.  She  was 
agreeable  and  rather  daring,  and  she  now  accepted  my  offer  at 
once.  But  as  it  would  not  do  to  arouse  the  suspicions  of  the  con- 
cierge it  was  decided  that  I  should  take  her  dresses  in  my  trunk, 

115 


MEMORIES    OF    M\    LIFE 

aiitl  that  she  sliould  put  lin-  liiicri  into  a  l)afx  that  ma  petite  dame 
.shouUl  lend  licr.  Poor,  di'ur  iMiiie.  (Juerai-d  had  f^iven  in.  She 
was  (juitc  conciuered  and  soon  began  to  lielp  in  my  preparations, 
wliich  certainly  did  not  take  me  long.  The  next  thing  was  that  I 
(lid  not  know  how  to  got  to  Spain. 

' '  You  go  through  Bordeaux, ' '  said  Mme.  Guerard. 

"  Oh,  no!  "  exclaimed  Caroline,  "  my  brother-in-law  is  a 
skipper  and  he  often  goes  to  Spain  by  iMarseilles. " 

I  had  saved  nine  liundred  francs  and  ]\Ime.  Guerard  lent  nie 
six  hundred.  It  was  perfectly  mad,  but  I  felt  ready  to  conquer 
the  world  and  nothing  would  have  induced  me  to  give  up  my 
plan.  Then,  too,  it  seemed  to  me  as  though  I  had  been  wishing 
to  see  Spain  for  a  long  time.  I  had  got  it  into  my  head  that  my 
Fate  willed  it,  that  I  must  obey  my  star,  and  a  hundred  other 
ideas,  each  one  more  foolish  than  the  other,  strengthened  me 
in  my  plan.     I  was  destined  to  act  in  this  way,  I  thought. 

I  went  downstairs  again.  The  door  was  still  ajar.  With 
Caroline's  help  I  carried  the  empty  trunk  up  to  Mme.  Guerard 's, 
and  Caroline  emptied  my  wardrobe  and  drawers  and  then 
packed  the  trunk.  I  shall  never  forget  that  delightful  moment. 
It  seemed  to  me  as  though  the  world  was  about  to  be  mine.  I  was 
going  to  start  off  with  a  woman  to  wait  on  me.  I  was  about  to 
travel  alone,  with  no  one  to  criticise  what  I  decided  to  do.  I 
should  see  an  unknown  country  about  which  I  had  dreamed,  and 
I  should  cross  the  sea.  Oh,  how  happy  I  was !  Twenty  times  I 
must  have  gone  up  and  down  the  staircase  which  separated  our 
two  fiats.  Everyone  was  a.sleep  and  the  flat  was  so  constructed 
that  not  a  sound  of  our  going  in  and  out  could  reach  my  mother. 
I  could  go  through  the  kitchen  from  my  bedroom  without  any 
difficulty. 

My  trunk  was  at  last  strapped,  Caroline's  valise  fastened,  and 
my  little  bag  crammed  full.  I  was  quite  ready  to  start,  but  the 
fingers  of  the  clock  had  moved  along  by  this  time,  and  to  my 
horror  I  discovered  that  it  was  eight  o'clock.  ^Marguerite  would 
be  going  do\\Ti  from  her  bedroom  at  the  top  of  the  house  to  pre- 
pare my  mother's  coffee,  my  chocolate,  and  bread  and  milk  for 
my  sisters.     In  a  fit  of  despair  and  wild  determination  I  kissed 

116 


CASTLES    IN    SPAIN 

."Vlme,  Guerard  with  such  violence  as  ahuost  to  stifle  her  and 
rushed  once  more  to  my  room  to  get  my  little  Virgin  Mary  which 
went  with  me  everywhere.  I  threw  a  hundred  kisses  to  my 
mother's  room,  and  then,  with  wet  eyes  and  a  joyful  heart  went 
downstairs.  My  petite  dame  had  asked  the  man  who  polished  the 
floors  to  take  the  trunk  and  valise  down,  and  Caroline  had  fetched 
a  cab.  I  went  like  a  whirlwind  past  the  concierge's  door.  She 
had  her  back  turned  toward  me  and  was  sweeping  the  floor.  I 
sprang  into  the  cab  and  the  driver  whipped  up  his  horse.  I  was 
on  my  way  to  Spain.  I  had  written  an  afl'ectionate  letter  to  my 
mother  begging  her  to  forgive  me  and  not  to  be  grieved.  I  had 
written  a  stupid  letter  of  explanation  to  Montigny,  the  manager 
of  the  Gymnase  Theater.  The  letter  did  not  explain  anything 
though.  It  was  written  by  a  child  whose  brain  was  certainly  a 
little  affected,  and  I  finished  up  with  these  words :  ' '  Have  pity 
on  a  poor,  crazy  girl." 

Sardou  told  me  later  on  that  he  happened  to  be  in  Montigny 'a 
office  when  he  received  my  letter. 

' '  I  had  been  talking  to  Montigny  for  over  an  hour, ' '  he  said, 
' '  about  a  piece  I  was  going  to  write.  The  conversation  was  very 
animated,  and  when  the  door  was  opened  Montigny  exclaimed  in 
a  fury:  '  I  had  given  orders  that  I  was  not  to  be  disturbed!  ' 
lie  was  somewhat  appeased,  however,  on  seeing  old  Monval's 
troubled  look  and  he  knew  there  was  some  urgent  matter.  '  Oh, 
what's  happened  now?  '  he  asked,  taking  the  letter  that  the  old 
stage  manager  held  out  to  him.  On  recognizing  my  paper,  with 
its  gray  border,  he  said :  ' '  Oh,  it 's  from  that  mad  child !  Is  she 
ill?  " 

"  No,"  said  Monval,  "  she  has  gone  to  Spain." 

' '  She  can  go  to  the  deuce  !  ' '  exclaimed  Montigny.  ' '  Send 
for  Mme,  Dieudonnee  to  take  her  part.  Bernhardt  has  a  good 
memory,  and  half  the  role  must  be  cut.    That  will  settle  it. ' ' 

"  Any  trouble  for  to-night?  "  Sardou  asked  Montigny. 

' '  Oh,  nothing, ' '  he  answered.  "  It  is  that  little  Sarah  Bern- 
hardt who  has  cleared  off  to  Spain  !  ' ' 

"  That  girl  from  the  Francais  who  boxed  Nathalie's  ears?  " 

"  Yes." 

117 


MEMORIES    OF    MV    LIFE 

"  She's  I'iitlitT  aimisinf;." 

"  Y(\s,  l)ut  not  for  hor  iiiniiarrnrs, "  romarkprl  Montijniy,  con- 
tinuing iiiinicdiatoly  afterwards  the  conversation  which  had  been 
interrupted. 

Tliis  is  exactly  as  Victori(>n  Sardou  rehited  the  incident. 

On  aiTi\  in^'  at  Marseilles,  Caroline  went  to  j,'et  information 
about  the  journt\v.  'I'he  result  was  that  we  embarked  on  an 
abominable  tradii]jr  boat,  a  dirty  coaster  smelling  of  oil  and  stale 
fish,  a  perfect  horror. 

I  had  never  been  on  the  sea,  so  I  fancied  that  all  the  boats 
were  like  this  and  that  it  was  no  good  complaining.  After 
six  days  of  rough  sea  we  landed  at  Alicante.  Oh,  that  landing, 
how  well  I  remember  it !  I  had  to  jump  from  boat  to  boat,  from 
plank  to  plank,  with  the  risk  of  falling  into  the  water  a  hundred 
times  over,  for  I  am  naturally  inclined  to  dizziness  and  the  little 
bridges  without  any  rails,  rope,  or  anything,  thrown  across  from 
one  boat  to  another  and  bending  under  my  light  weight,  seemed 
to  me  like  mere  ropes  stretched  across  space. 

Exhausted  with  fatigue  and  hunger  I  went  to  the  first  hotel 
reconnnended  to  us  at  Alicante.  Oh,  what  a  hotel  it  was !  The 
house  itself  was  built  of  stone  with  low  arcades.  Rooms  on  the 
first  floor  were  given  to  me,  and  certainly  the  owners  of  it  had 
never  had  two  ladies  in  their  house  before.  The  bedroom  was 
large,  but  w'ith  a  low  ceiling.  By  way  of  decoration  there  were 
enormous  real  fish  bones  arranged  in  garlands  caught  up  by  the 
heads  of  fish.  By  half  shutting  one's  eyes  this  decoration  might 
be  taken  for  delicate  sculpture  of  ancient  times. 

I  had  a  bed  put  up  for  Caroline  in  this  sinister-looking  room. 
We  pulled  the  furniture  across  against  the  doors,  and  I  did  not 
undress,  for  I  could  not  venture  on  those  sheets.  I  was  ac- 
customed to  fine  sheets  perfumed  with  iris,  for  my  pretty  little 
mother,  like  all  Dutch  women,  had  a  mania  for  linen  and  clean- 
liness and  she  had  inculcated  me  with  this  harmless  mania. 

It  was  about  five  in  the  morning  when  I  opened  my  eyes,  no 
doubt  instinctively,  as  there  had  been  no  sound  to  rouse  me.  A 
door,  leading  I  did  not  know  where,  opened,  and  a  man  looked 

118 


CASTLES    IN    SPAIN 

in.  I  gave  a  shrill  cry,  seized  my  little  Virgin  Mary,  and  waved 
her  about,  wild  with  terror. 

Caroline  roused  up  with  a  start  and  courageously  rushed  to 
the  window.  She  threw  it  up  screaming :  ' '  Fire !  Thieves ! 
Help." 

The  man  disappeared  and  the  house  was  soon  invaded  by  the 
police.  I  leave  it  to  be  imagined  what  the  police  of  Alicante 
forty  years  ago  were  like.  I  answered  all  the  questions  asked  me 
by  a  Vice-Consul  who  was  Hungarian  and  spoke  French.  I  had 
seen  the  man  and  he  had  a  siUj  handkerchief  on  his  head.  He 
had  a  beard,  and  on  his  shoulder  a  poncho,  but  that  was  all  I 
knew.  The  Hungarian  Vice-Consul  who,  I  believe,  represented 
France,  Austria,  and  Hungary,  asked  me  the  color  of  the  brig- 
and's beard,  silk  handkerchief  and  poncho.  It  had  been  too  dark 
for  me  to  distinguish  the  colors  exactly.  The  worthy  man  was 
very  much  annoyed  at  my  answer.  After  taking  down  a  few 
notes  he  was  very  thoughtful  for  a  moment  and  then  gave  orders 
for  a  message  to  be  taken  to  his  home.  It  was  to  ask  his  wife  to 
send  a  carriage  and  to  prepare  a  room  in  order  to  receive  a  young 
foreigner  in  distress.  I  prepared  to  go  with  him,  and  after  pay- 
ing my  bill  at  the  hotel,  we  started  off  in  the  Hungarian's  car- 
riage, and  I  was  welcomed  by  his  wife  with  the  most  touching 
cordiality.  I  drank  the  coffee  with  thick  cream  which  she  poured 
for  me,  and,  during  breakfast,  told  her  who  I  was,  and  where  I 
was  going.  She  then  told  me  in  return  that  her  father  was  an 
important  manufacturer  of  cloth,  that  he  was  from  Bohemia,  and 
a  great  friend  of  my  father's.  And  she  took  me  to  the  room  that 
had  been  prepared  for  me,  made  me  go  to  bed,  and  told  me  that 
while  I  was  asleep  she  would  write  me  some  letters  of  introduc- 
tion in  Madrid.  I  slept  for  ten  hours  without  waking,  and  at 
six  in  the  evening  when  I  roused  up,  was  thoroughly  rested  in 
mind  and  body.  I  wanted  to  send  a  telegram  to  my  mother,  but 
this  was  impossible,  as  there  was  no  telegraph  at  Alicante.  I' 
wrote  a  letter,  therefore,  to  my  poor,  dear  mother,  telling  her 
that  I  was  in  the  house  of  friends  of  my  father. 

The  following  day  I  started  for  ^ladrid  with  a  letter  for  the 
landlord  of  the  Hotel  de  la  Puerta  del  Sol.     Nice  rooms  were 

119 


mi:m()Kii:s  of  mv   life 

given  to  us  and  I  sent  nu'sscn^^'crs  willi  the  Icttors  from  Mme. 
Rudcouritz.  I  sfx'iit  a  fortnight  in  Madrid,  and  was  made  a 
great  deal  of  and  ^'cnerally  feted.  I  went  to  all  the  bullfights, 
and  was  infatuated  with  them.  I  had  the  honor  of  being  invited 
to  a  great  corrida  given  in  honor  of  Victor  Eninuinuel  who  was 
just  then  the  guest  of  the  Queen  of  Spain.  I  forgot  Paris,  my 
sorrows,  disappointments,  ambitions,  and  everythin*,'  else,  and  I 
wanted  to  live  in  Spain.  A  telegram  sent  by  Mme.  Ouerard 
made  me  change  all  my  plans.  My  mother  was  very  ill,  the  tele- 
gram informed  me.  I  packed  my  trunk  and  wanted  to  start  off 
at  once,  but  when  my  hotel  bill  was  paid  I  had  not  a  fraction  for 
the  railway  journey.  The  landlord  of  the  hotel  took  my  two 
bank  notes,  prepared  me  a  basket  of  provisions  and  gave  me  two 
hundred  francs  at  the  station,  telling  me  that  he  had  received 
orders  from  INIme.  Rudcouritz  not  to  let  me  want  for  anything. 
She  and  her  husband  were  certainly  most  delightful  people. 

My  heart  beat  fast  when  I  reached  my  mother's  house  in 
Paris.  My  petite  dame  was  waiting  for  me  downstairs  in  the 
concierge's  room.  She  was  very  excited  to  see  me  looking  so 
well  and  kissed  me  with  her  eyes  full  of  tears  of  joy.  The  con- 
cierge and  family  poured  forth  their  compliments.  Mme.  Gue- 
rard  went  upstairs  before  me  to  prepare  my  mother,  and  I  waited 
a  moment  in  the  kitchen  and  was  hugged  by  our  old  servant 
Marguerite.  My  sisters  both  came  running  in.  Jeanne  kissed 
me,  then  turned  me  roimd  and  examined  me.  Regina,  with  her 
hands  behind  her  back,  leaned  against  the  stove  gazing  at  me 
furiously. 

"  Well,  w^on't  you  kiss  me,  Regina?  "  I  asked,  stooping  down 
to  her. 

"  No,  don't  like  you,"  she  answered.  "  You've  went  off 
without  me.  Don't  like  you  now."  She  turned  away  brusquely 
to  avoid  my  kiss  and  knocked  her  head  against  the  stove. 

Finally,  ]\Ime.  Guerard  appeared  again,  and  I  went  with  her. 
Oh,  how  repentant  I  was,  and  how  deeply  affected !  I  knocked 
gently  at  the  door  of  the  room  which  was  hung  with  pale  blue 
rep.  My  mother  looked  very  white,  h'ing  in  her  bed.  Her  face 
was  thinner,  but  wonderfully  beautiful.     She  stretched  out  her 

120 


CASTLES    IN    SPAIN 

arms  like  two  wings  and  I  rushed  forward  to  this  loving,  white 
nest.  My  mother  cried  silently,  as  she  always  did.  Then  her 
hands  played  with  my  hair,  which  she  let  down  and  combed  with 
her  long,  taper  fingers.  Then  we  asked  each  other  a  hundred 
questions.  I  wanted  to  know  everything,  and  she  did,  too,  so 
that  we  had  the  most  amusing  duet  of  words,  phrases,  and  kisses. 
I  found  that  my  mother  had  had  a  rather  severe  attack  of  pleu- 
risy, that  she  was  now  getting  better,  but  was  not  yet  well.  I, 
therefore,  took  up  my  abode  again  with  her,  and  for  the  time  be- 
ing went  back  to  my  old  bedroom.  Mme.  Guerard  had  told  me 
in  a  letter  that  my  grandmother  on  my  father's  side,  had  at  last 
agreed  to  the  proposal  made  by  my  mother.  INIy  father  had  left 
a  certain  sum  of  money  which  I  was  to  have  on  my  wedding-day. 
My  mother,  at  my  request,  had  asked  my  grandmother  to  let  me 
have  half  this  sum,  and  she  had  at  last  consented,  saying  that  she 
should  use  the  interest  of  the  other  half,  but  that  the  half  would 
still  be  there  for  me  if  I  changed  my  mind,  and  consented  to 
marry.  I  was,  therefore,  quite  decided  to  live  my  life  as  I 
wished,  to  go  away  from  home,  and  be  quite  independent.  I 
adored  my  mother,  but  our  ideas  were  quite  different.  Then, 
too,  my  godfather  M^as  perfectly  odious  to  me,  and  for  years  and 
years  he  had  been  in  the  habit  of  lunching  and  dining  with  us 
every  day,  and  of  playing  whist  every  evening.  He  was  always 
hurting  my  feelings  in  one  way  or  another.  He  was  an  old  bach- 
elor, very  rich,  and  with  no  near  relatives.  He  adored  my 
mother,  but  she  had  always  refused  to  marry  him.  She  had  put 
up  with  him  at  first  because  he  was  a  friend  of  my  father's. 
After  my  father's  death  she  had  put  up  with  him  still,  because 
she  was  then  accustomed  to  him,  until  finally  she  quite  missed 
him  when  he  was  ill  or  traveling.  But,  placid  as  she  was,  my 
mother  was  positive,  and  could  not  endure  any  kind  of  constraint. 
She,  therefore,  rebelled  against  the  idea  of  another  master.  She 
was  very  gentle,  but  determined,  and  this  determination  of  hers 
ended  sometimes  in  the  most  violent  anger.  She  used  then  to 
turn  very  pale  and  violet  rings  would  come  round  her  eyes,  her 
lips  would  tremble,  her  teeth  chatter,  her  beautiful  eyes  take  a 
fixed  gaze,  the  words  would  come  at  intervals  from  her  throat,  all 

121 


.Mi:.M()KIi:S    OF    M\     LII'E 

choppt'fl  up,  hissing'  atitl  lioarsc  After  lliis  slic  woiilfl  fiiiiil,  jiiul 
the  vriiis  ol'  licf  llii'oiil  tlicti  used  1o  swell,  and  liei'  hands  and  feet 
turn  icy  cold.  Sonieliines  she  would  he  uiutonscious  for  liours, 
and  llie  doctors  told  u.s  that  she  nii^dit  die  in  one  of  these  attacks 
so  that  we  did  all  in  oui'  powei-  to  avciid  tlu'se  tcrrilde  acf-jilcnts. 
]\Iy  mother  knew  this  and  rather  took  advantajre  of  it,  and,  as  I 
had  inherited  this  tendency  to  fits  of  ra^-'e  from  lier,  I  coidd  not 
and  did  not  wish  to  live  with  lier.  As  for  me  I  am  not  placid. 
I  am  active,  and  always  ready  for  fif.rht,  and  what  I  want  I 
always  want  immediat(>ly.  I  have  not  the  <jfentle  ohstiiuicy  pecul- 
iar to  my  mother.  The  blood  begins  to  boil  under  my  temples 
before  I  have  time  to  control  it.  Time  has  made  me  wiser  in  this 
respect,  but  not  sufficiently  so.  I  am  aware  of  this  and  it  causes 
me  suffering. 

I  did  not  say  anything  about  my  plans  to  our  dear  invalid, 
but  I  asked  our  old  friend,  Meydieu,  to  find  me  a  flat.  The  old 
man  who  had  tormented  me  so  much  during  my  childhood  had 
been  most  kind  to  me  ever  since  my  debut  at  the  Theatre  Fran- 
cais,  and,  in  spite  of  my  escapade  with  Nathalie  and  my  exploit 
When  at  the  Gymnase,  he  was  now  ready  to  see  the  best  in  me. 
When  he  came  to  see  us  the  day  after  ni}'  return  home,  I  stayed 
talking  with  him  for  a  time  in  the  drawing-room  and  confided  my 
intentions  to  him.  He  quite  approved  and  said  that  my  inter- 
course with  my  mother  would  be  all  the  more  agreeable  through 
this  separation.  I  took  a  flat  in  the  Rue  Duphot,  quite  near  to 
my  mother,  and  IVIme.  Guerard  undertook  to  have  it  furnished 
for  me.  As  soon  as  my  mother  was  well  again  I  talked  to  her 
about  it,  and  several  times  over  induced  her  to  agree  that  it  was 
really  better  I  should  live  by  myself  and  in  my  own  way.  When 
once  she  had  accepted  the  situation  everything  went  along  sat- 
isfactorily. My  sisters  were  present  when  we  were  talking  about 
it.  Jeanne  was  close  to  my  mother,  and  Regina,  who  had  refused 
to  speak  to  me  or  look  at  me  ever  since  my  return  three  weeks 
ago,  suddenly  jumped  on  my  lap. 

"  Take  me  with  you  this  time,"  she  exclaimed  suddenly. 
**  I  will  kiss  you  if  you  will." 

I  glanced  at  my  mother,  rather  embarrassed. 

122 


CASTLES    IN    SPAIN 

' '  Oh,  take  her, ' '  she  said,  ' '  for  she  is  unbearable !  ' ' 

Regina  jumped  down  again  and  began  to  dance  a  jig,  mutter- 
ing the  rudest,  silliest  things  at  the  same  time.  She  then  nearly 
stifled  me  with  kisses,  sprang  on  to  my  mother's  armchair  and 
kissed  her  hair,  her  eyes,  her  cheeks,  saying : 

"  You  are  glad  I  am  going,  aren't  you"?  You  can  give  every- 
thing to  your  Jenny." 

My  mother  colored  slightly,  but  as  her  eyes  fell  on  Jeanne  her 
expression  changed,  and  a  look  of  unspeakable  affection  came 
over  her  face.  She  pushed  Regina  gently  aside,  and  the  child 
went  on  with  her  jig. 

"  We  two  will  stay  together,"  said  my  mother,  leaning  her 
head  back  on  Jeanne's  shoulder,  and  she  said  this  quite  uncon- 
scious of  the  full  force  of  her  words,  just  in  the  same  way  as  she 
had  gazed  at  my  sister.  I  was  perfectly  stupefied  and  closed  my 
eyes  so  that  I  should  not  see.  I  could  only  hear  my  little  sister 
dancing  her  jig  and  emphasizing  every  stamp  on  the  floor  with 
the  words:  "  And  we  two,  as  well,  we  two,  we  two!  " 

It  was  a  very  painful  little  drama  that  was  stirring  our  four 
hearts  in  this  little  bourgeois  home,  and  the  result  of  it  was  that 
I  settled  down  finally  with  my  little  sister  in  the  flat  in  Rue 
Duphot.  I  kept  Caroline  with  me  and  engaged  a  cook.  My 
petite  dame,  Mme.  Guerard,  was  wnth  me  nearly  all  day  and  I 
dined  every  evening  with  my  mother. 


123 


CHAPTER    IX 


I   RETURN    TO   THE   STAGE 


WAS  still  on  friendly  terms  with  an  actor  from  the 
Porte  Saint  Martin  Theater,  who  had  been  ap- 
pointed stage  manager  there.  Marc  Fournier  was 
Is-Sl^iii^s  d  jj^  |-jja|.  -t-jjjjg  manager  of  this  theater.  A  piece  en- 
titled "  La  Biche  au  Bois  "  was  then  being  played.  It  was  a 
fairyland  story,  and  was  having  great  success.  A  delicious  ac- 
tress from  the  Odeon  Theater,  Mile.  Debay,  had  been  engaged  for 
the  principal  role.  She  played  tragedy  princesses  most  charm- 
ingly. I  often  had  tickets  for  the  Porte  Saint  Martin,  and  I 
thoroughly  enjoyed  "  La  Biche  au  Bois."  Mme.  Ulgade  sang 
admirably  in  her  role  of  the  young  prince,  and  amazed  me. 
Then,  too,  Marquita  charmed  me  with  her  dancing.  She  was 
delightful  in  her  dances,  which  were  so  animated,  so  charac- 
teristic, and  always  so  full  of  distinction.  Thanks  to  old  Josse 
I  knew  everyone;  but  to  my  surprise  and  terror,  one  evening, 
toward  five  o'clock,  on  arriving  at  the  theater  to  take  our  seats, 
he  exclaimed  on  seeing  me: 

**  Why,  here  is  our  princess,  our  little  "  Biche  au  Bois." 
Here  she  is!  It  is  the  Providence  that  watches  over  theaters 
who  has  sent  her!  " 

I  struggled  like  an  eel  caught  in  a  net,  but  it  was  all  in  vain. 
M.  Marc  Fournier,  who  could  be  very  charming,  gave  me  to 
understand  that  I  should  be  doing  him  a  veritable  ser^^oe  and 
keeping  up  the  receipts.  Josse,  who  guessed  what  my  scruples 
were,  exclaimed : 

"  But,  my  dear  child,  it  will  still  be  j^our  high  art,  for  it 

124 


I    RETURN    TO    THE    STAGE 

is  Mile.  Debay  from  the  Odeon  Theater  who  is  playing  this 
role  of  Princess,  and  Mile.  Debay  is  the  first  artiste  at  the  Odeon, 
and  the  Odeon  is  an  imperial  theater,  so  that  it  cannot  be  any 
disgrace  after  your  studies." 

Marquita,  who  had  just  arrived,  also  persuaded  me,  and 
Mme.  Ulgade  was  sent  for  to  rehearse  the  duos  I  was  to 
sing.  Yes,  and  I  was  to  sing  with  a  veritable  artiste,  one 
who  was  considered  to  be  the  first  artiste  of  the  Opera 
Comique. 

The  time  passed  by,  and  Josse  helped  me  to  rehearse  my 
role,  which  I  almost  knew,  as  I  had  seen  the  piece  often,  and  I 
had  an  extraordinary  memory.  The  minutes  flew,  and  the 
half  hours  made  up  entire  hours.  I  kept  looking  at  the  clock, 
the  large  clock  in  the  manager's  room,  where  I  was  studying 
my  role.  Mme.  Ulgade  rehearsed  with  me.  She  thought  my  voice 
was  pretty,  but  I  kept  singing  wrong,  and  she  helped  and  en- 
couraged me  all  the  time, 

I  was  dressed  up  in  Mile.  Debay 's  clothes,  and  finally  the 
moment  arrived  and  the  curtain  was  raised.  Poor  me!  I  was 
more  dead  than  alive,  but  my  courage  returned  after  a  triple 
burst  of  applause  for  the  couplet  which  I  sang  on  waking,  in 
very  much  the  same  way  as  I  should  have  murmured  a  series 
of  Racine's  lines. 

When  the  performance  was  over  Marc  Fournier  offered  me, 
through  Josse,  a  three  years'  engagement;  but  I  asked  to  be 
allowed  to  think  it  over.  Josse  had  introduced  me  to  a  dramatic 
author,  Lambert  Thiboust,  a  charming  man  who  was  certainly 
talented,  too.  He  thought  I  was  just  the  ideal  actress  for  his 
heroine,  La  Bergere  d'lvry,  but  M.  Faille,  an  old  actor  who 
had  become  the  manager  of  the  Ambigu  Theater,  was  not  the 
only  person  to  consult.  A  certain  M.  De  Chilly  had  some  in- 
terest in  the  theater.  He  had  made  his  name  in  the  role  of 
Rodin  in  the  "  Juif  Errant,"  and,  after  marrying  a  rather 
wealthy  wife,  had  left  the  stage,  and  was  now  interested  in  the 
business  side  of  theatrical  affairs.  He  had,  I  think,  just  given 
the  Ambigu  up  to  Faille.  De  Chilly  was  then  helping  on  a 
charming  girl  named  Laurence  Gerard.     She  was  gentle  and 

125 


mi:m()1Ui:s  of  mv  life 

V('i-y  hniir(i((tis,  i-jilhci-  pretty,  hut  uitliout  <iny  n*al  beauty  or 
^^race.  Faille  told  Lainhert  Thiboust  that  lie  had  .sj)()ken  to 
Laurence  Geriird,  but  tliat  lie  was  ready  to  do  as  the  author 
wished  in  tlie  matter.  The  only  thinj^  he  stipulated  was  that 
he  should  hear  me  before  decidinj^.  I  was  willin<^  to  humor 
the  poor  fellow,  who  miLst  have  been  as  poor  a  manager  as  he 
had  been  an  artiste.  I  acted  for  him  at  the  Ambigu  Theater. 
The  stage  was  only  lighted  by  the  wretched  scrvante,  a  little 
transportable  lamp.  About  a  yard  in  front  of  me  I  could  see 
]\r.  Faille  balancing  himself  on  his  chair,  one  hand  on  his  waist- 
coat and  the  fingers  of  the  other  hand  in  his  enormous  nostrils. 
This  disgusted  me  horribly.  Lambert  Thiboust  was  seated  near 
him,  his  handsome  face  smiling,  as  he  looked  at  me  encour- 
agingly. 

I  was  playing  in  "On  ne  Badine  pas  avec  1 'Amour,"  be- 
cause the  play  was  in  prose,  and  I  did  not  want  to  take  poetry. 
I  believe  I  w^as  perfectly  charming  in  my  role,  and  Lambert 
Thiboust  thought  so,  too;  but  when  I  had  finished,  poor  Faille 
got  up  in  a  clumsy,  pretentious  way,  said  something  in  a  low 
voice  to  the  author,  and  took  me  to  his  own  room. 

"  My  child,"  remarked  the  worthy  but  stupid  manager, 
' '  you  are  not  at  all  suitable  for  the  stage !  ' ' 

I  resented  this,  but  he  continued : 

"  Oh,  no,  not  at  all."  And,  as  the  door  then  opened,  he 
added,  pointing  to  the  newcomer,  "  Here  is  M.  De  Chilly,  who 
was  also  listening  to  you,  and  he  will  say  just  the  same  as  I 
say." 

]\r.  De  Chilly  nodded  and  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  Lambert  Thiboust  is  mad,"  he  remarked,  "  no  one  ever 
saw  such  a  thin  shepherdess!  " 

Ke  then  rang  the  bell  and  told  the  boy  to  fetch  ^Ille.  Lau- 
rence Gerard.  I  understood  and,  without  taking  leave  of  the 
two  boors,  I  left  the  room. 

My  heart  was  heavy,  though,  as  I  went  back  to  the  foyer, 
where  I  had  left  my  hat.  I  found  Laurence  Gerard  there,  but 
she  was  fetched  away  the  next  moment.  I  was  standing  near 
her  and,  as  I  looked  in  the  glass,  I  was  struck  by  the  contrast 

126 


I    RETURN    TO    THE    STAGE 

between  us.  She  was  plump,  with  a  wide  face,  magnificent 
black  eyes,  her  nose  was  rather  canaille,  her  mouth  heavy,  and 
there  was  a  very  ordinary  look  about  her  generally.  I  was 
fair,  slight,  and  frail-looking,  like  a  reed,  with  a  long,  pale 
face,  blue  eyes,  a  rather  sad  mouth,  and  a  general  look  of 
distinction.  This  hasty  vision  consoled  me  for  my  failure, 
and  then,  too,  I  felt  that  this  Faille  was  a  nonentity,  and  that 
De  Chilly  was  common.  Five  days  later  Mile.  Debay  was  well 
again  and  took  her  role  as  usual. 

I  was  destined  to  meet  with  both  of  these  men  again  later 
on  in  my  life.  Chilly,  soon  after,  as  manager  at  the  Odeon; 
and  Faille,  twenty  years  later,  in  such  a  wretched  situation 
that  the  tears  came  to  my  eyes  when  he  appeared  before  me 
and  begged  me  to  play  for  his  benefit. 

"  I  beseech  you,"  said  the  poor  man.  ''  You  will  be  the 
only  attraction  at  this  performance,  and  I  have  only  you  to 
count  on  for  the  receipts." 

I  shook  hands  with  him.  I  do  not  know  whether  he  remem- 
bered our  first  interview,  but  I  remembered  it  well,  and  could 
only  hope  that  he  did  not. 

Before  I  would  accept  the  engagement  at  the  Porte  Saint 
Martin,  I  wrote  to  Camille  Doucet.  The  following  day  I  re- 
ceived a  letter  asking  me  to  go  to  the  ofifices  of  the  Ministry. 
It  was  not  without  some  emotion  that  I  went  to  see  this  kind 
man.  He  was  standing  up  waiting  for  me  when  I  was  ushered 
into  the  room.  He  held  out  his  hands  to  me  and  drew  me 
gently  toward  him. 

"  Oh,  what  a  terrible  child!  "  he  said,  giving  me  a  chair. 
"  Come  now,  you  must  be  calmer.  It  will  never  do  to  waste 
all  these  admirable  gifts  in  voyages,  escapades,  and  boxing 
people's  ears!  " 

I  was  deeply  moved  by  his  kindness,  and  my  eyes  were  full 
of  regret  as  I  looked  at  him. 

"  Now,  don't  cry,  my  dear  child,  don't  cry.  Let  us  try 
and  find  out  how  we  are  to  make  up  for  all  this  folly." 

He  was  quiet  for  a  moment,  and  then,  opening  a  drawer, 
he  took  out  a  letter. 

127 


MEMORIi:S    OF    AIV    LIFE 

"  Here  is  .soiiiethin^f  wliicli  will  j)('rli;i[)8  save  us,"  he  said. 

It  was  a  Icttci-  Tr-oiii  l)it(|uesMcl,  who  had  just  been  ai)j)ointed 
manager  at   tlic  Och'-ou  'i'licatfr,  toj^rcthcr  with  Chilly. 

*'  I  am  asked  for  some  yoMn<;  artisl(<i  to  make  up  the  Od«'ioii 
company.  Well,  we  must  attend  to  this."  lie  got  up,  and  ae- 
e()iii|)aiiyin.u'  iiic  1o  the  door,  said,  as  I  went  away:  "  We  shall 
succeed." 

I  went  baek  liome,  and  began  at  once  to  rehearse  all  my 
roles  in  Racine's  plays.  I  waited  very  anxiously  for  several 
days,  consoled  by  ]\Tnie.  Ouerard,  who  succeeded  in  restoring 
my  confidence.  Finally,  I  received  a  letter,  and  went  at  once 
to  the  Ministry.  Camille  Doucet  received  me  with  a  beaming 
expression  on  his  face. 

"  It's  settled,"  he  said.  "  Oh,  but  it  has  not  been  ea.sy, 
though,"  he  added.  "  You  are  very  young,  but  very  celebrated 
already  for  your  headstrong  character.  The  only  thing  is,  I 
have  pledged  my  word  that  you  will  be  as  gentle  as  a  young 
lamb." 

"  Yes,  I  will  be  gentle,  I  promise,"  I  replied,  "  if  only  out 
of  gratitude.    But  what  am  I  to  do?  " 

"  Here  is  a  letter  for  Felix  Duquesnel,"  he  replied;  "  he  is 
expecting  you." 

I  thanked  Camille  Doucet  heartily,  and  he  then  said: 

"  I  shall  see  you  again  less  officially  at  your  aunt's  on  Thurs- 
day. I  have  had  an  invitation  this  morning  to  dine  there,  so 
you  can  tell  me  then  wdiat  Duquesnel  says." 

It  was  then  half  past  ten  in  the  morning.  I  went  home  to 
put  some  pretty  clothes  on.  I  chose  an  underskirt  of  canary 
yellow,  a  dress  of  black  silk  with  the  skirt  scalloped  round,  and 
a  straw  hat  trimmed  with  corn  and  black  ribbon.  It  must 
have  been  delightfully  mad  looking.  Arrayed  in  this  style, 
feeling  very  joyful  and  full  of  confidence,  I  went  to  call  on 
Felix  Duquesnel.  I  waited  a  few  moments  in  a  little  room  very 
artistically  furnished.  A  young  man  appeared,  looking  very 
elegant.  He  was  smiling  and  altogether  charming.  I  could  not 
grasp  the  fact  that  this  fair-haired,  gay  young  man  would  be 
my  manager. 

128 


I    RETURN    TO    THE    STAGE 

After  a  short  conversation  we  agreed  on  every  point  we 
touched. 

"  Come  to  the  Odeon  at  two  o'clock,"  said  Duquesnel,  by- 
way of  leavetaking,  "  and  I  will  introduce  you  to  my  partner. 
I  ought  to  say  it  the  other  way  round,  according  to  society  eti- 
quette," he  added,  laughing,  "  but  we  are  talking  theater." 

He  came  a  few  steps  down  the  staircase  with  me  and  stayed 
there  leaning  over  the  balustrade  to  wish  me  good-by. 

At  two  o'clock  precisely  I  was  at  the  Odeon,  and  had  to 
wait  an  hour.  I  began  to  grind  my  teeth,  and  only  the  re- 
membrance of  my  promise  to  Camille  Doucet  prevented  me 
from  departing. 

Finally,  Duquesnel  appeared  and  took  me  across  to  the  man- 
ager's office. 

*'  You  will  now  see  the  other  ogre,"  he  said,  and  I  pictured 
to  myself  the  other  ogre  as  charming  as  his  partner.  I  was 
therefore  greatly  disappointed  on  seeing  a  very  ugly  little  man 
whom  I  recognized  as  Chilly. 

He  eyed  me  up  and  down  most  impolitely,  and  pretended 
not  to  recognize  me.  He  signed  to  me  to  sit  down  and,  with- 
out a  word,  handed  me  a  pen  and  showed  me  where  to  sign  my 
name  on  the  paper  before  me. 

Mme.  Guerard  interposed,  laying  her  hand  on  mine, 

"  Do  not  sign  without  reading  it,"  she  said. 

*'  Are  you  mademoiselle's  mother?  "  he  asked,  looking  up. 

"  No,"  she  said,  "  but  it  is  just  the  same  as  though  I  were." 

"  Well,  yes,  you  are  right.  Read  it  quickly,"  he  continued, 
"  and  then  sign  or  leave  it  alone,  but  be  quick." 

I  felt  the  color  coming  into  my  face,  for  this  man  was 
odious.     Duquesnel  whispered  to  me : 

"  There's  no  ceremony  about  him,  but  he's  all  right,  don't 
take  offense." 

I  signed  my  engagement  and  handed  it  to  his  ugly  partner. 

"  You  know,"  he  remarked,  "  M.  Duquesnel  is  responsible 
for  you.     I  should  not  upon  any  account  have  engaged  you." 

"  And  if  you  had  been  alone,  monsieur,"  I  answered,  "  I 
should  not  have  signed;  so  we  are  quits." 
10  129 


MEMORIES    OF    MY    LIFE 

I  wt'iit  awiiy  at  once  and  liui'i'icti  to  my  niotlicr's  to  tell  her, 
fur  1  knew  this  woukl  be  a  {j;i(;at  joy  for  ht-r.  'I'lieii,  that  very 
day,  I  set  off  witli  my  petite  dame  to  buy  everything  ueeessary 
for  furnishing  my  dressing-room.  The  following  day  I  went 
to  the  convent  in  the  line  Notr-e-I)ame  ck'S  Champs  to  see  uiy 
dear  governess,  ]\llle.  De  Brabender.  She  had  been  ill,  with 
acute  rheumatism  in  all  her  limbs,  for  the  last  thirteen  months. 
She  had  suffered  so  much  that  she  looked  like  a  different  per- 
son. She  was  lying  in  her  little  white  bed,  a  little  white  cap 
covering  her  hair,  her  big  nose  was  drawn  with  pain,  her  washed- 
out  eyes  seemed  to  have  no  color  in  them.  Her  formidable  mus- 
tache alone  bristled  up  with  constant  spasms  of  pain.  Besides 
all  this  she  was  so  strangely  altered  that  I  wondered  what  had 
caused  the  change.  I  went  nearer  and,  bending  down,  kissed 
her  gently,  I  then  gazed  at  her  so  inquisitively  that  she  un- 
derstood instinctively.  With  her  eyes  she  signed  to  me  to  look 
on  the  table  near  her,  and  there  in  a  glass  I  saw  all  my  dear  old 
friend's  teeth.  I  put  the  three  roses  I  had  brought  her  in  the 
glass  and,  kissing  her  again,  I  asked  her  forgiveness  for  my 
impertinent  curiosity.  I  left  the  convent  with  a  very  hea\y 
heart,  for  the  IMother  Superior  took  me  in  the  garden  and  told 
me  that  my  beloved  Mile,  De  Brabender  could  not  live  much 
longer,  I  therefore  went  every  day  for  a  time  to  see  my  gentle 
old  governess,  but  as  soon  as  the  rehearsals  commenced  at  the 
Odeon  my  visits  had  to  be  less  frequent. 

One  morning  about  seven  o'clock,  a  message  came  from  the 
convent  to  fetch  me  in  great  haste,  and  I  was  present  at  the 
dear  woman's  death  agony.  Her  face  lighted  up  at  the  su- 
preme moment  with  such  a  holy  look  that  I  suddenly  longed 
to  die.  I  kissed  her  hands  which  were  holding  the  crucifix : 
they  had  already  turned  cold.  I  asked  to  be  allowed  to  be 
there  when  she  was  placed  in  her  coffin. 

On  arriving  at  the  convent  the  next  day,  at  the  hour  fixed, 
I  found  the  Sisters  in  such  a  state  of  consternation  that  I  was 
alarmed.  What  could  have  happened.  I  wondered?  They 
pointed  to  the  door  of  the  cell  without  uttering  a  word.  The 
nuns  were  standing  round  the  bed,  on  which  was  the  most  ex- 

130 


I    RETURN    TO    THE    STAGE 

traordinary-looking  being  imaginable.  My  poor  governess,  ly- 
ing rigid  on  her  deathbed,  had  a  man's  face.  Her  mustache 
had  grown  longer,  and  she  had  a  beard  of  half  an  inch  all  round 
her  chin.  Her  mustache  and  beard  were  sandy,  while  the  long 
hair  framing  her  face  was  white.  Her  mouth,  without  the  sup- 
port of  the  teeth,  had  sunk  in  so  that  her  nose  fell  on  the 
sandy  mustache.  It  was  like  a  terrible  and  ridiculous-looking 
mask,  instead  of  the  sweet  face  of  my  friend.  It  was  the  face 
of  a  man,  while  the  little,  delicate  hands  w^ere  those  of  a  woman. 

There  was  an  awestruck  expression  in  the  eyes  of  the  nuns 
in  spite  of  the  assurance  of  the  nurse,  who  had  declared  to 
them  that  the  body  was  that  of  a  woman.  They  had  dressed 
the  poor  dead  bodj%  but  the  poor  little  Sisters  were  trembling 
and  crossing  themselves  all  the  time. 

The  day  after  this  dismal  ceremony  I  made  my  debut  at 
the  Odeon  in  "  Le  Jeu  de  1 'Amour  et  du  Hasard."  I  was  not 
suitable  for  Marivand's  pieces,  as  they  require  a  certain  coquet- 
tishness  and  an  affectation  which  were  not  then  among  my 
qualities.  Then,  too,  I  was  rather  too  slight,  so  that  I  had  no 
success  at  all.  Chilly  happened  to  be  passing  along  the  corridor, 
just  as  Duquesnel  was  talking  to  me  and  encouraging  me. 
Chilly  pointed  to  me  and  remarked : 

"  They  are  no  good,  these  grand  folks,  there  is  not  even  any 
pluck  about  them." 

I  was  furious  at  the  man's  insolence,  and  the  blood  rushed 
to  my  face,  but  I  saw  through  my  half-closed  eyes  Camille  Dou- 
cet's  face,  that  face  always  so  clean  shaven  and  young  looking, 
under  his  crown  of  white  hair.  I  thought  it  was  a  vision  of 
my  mind,  which  was  always  on  the  alert,  on  account  of  the 
promise  I  had  made.  But  no,  it  was  he  himself,  and  he  came 
up  to  me. 

"  What  a  pretty  voice  you  have,"  he  said.  '*  Your  second 
appearance  Avill  be  such  a  pleasure  to  us!  " 

This  man  was  always  courteous,  but  truthful.  This  debut 
of  mine  had  not  given  him  any  pleasure,  but  he  was  counting 
on  my  next  appearance,  and  he  had  spoken  the  truth.  I  had 
a  pretty  voice,  and  that  was  all  that  anyone  could  say. 

131 


MEMORIES    OF    MY    LIFE 

I  remained  .iL  the  Odeon  and  worked  very  liard.  I  was 
always  ready  to  take  anyone's  place  at  a  moment's  notice,  for 
1  knew  all  the  roles.  I  had  some  success,  and  the  students  ap- 
proved of  me.  "When  I  came  on  the  stage  I  was  always  greeted 
by  applause  from  them.  A  few  old  sticklers  looked  down  at 
the  pit  to  command  silence,  but  no  one  cared  a  straw  for  them. 

Finally,  my  day  of  triumph  dawned.  Duquesnel  had  the 
happy  idea  of  putting  "  Athalie  "  on  again  with  Mendelssohn's 
choruses.  Beauvallet,  who  had  been  odious  as  a  professor,  was 
charming  as  a  comrade.  By  special  permission  from  the  ]\Iin- 
istry  he  was  to  play  Joad.  The  role  of  Zacharie  was  assigned 
to  me.  Some  of  the  Conservatoire  pupils  were  to  take  the  spoken 
choruses,  and  the  pupils  who  studied  singing  undertook  the 
musical  part.  The  rehearsals  were  so  bad  that  Duquesnel  and 
Chilly  were  in  despair.  Beauvallet,  who  was  more  agreeable 
now,  but  not  choice  as  regarded  his  language,  muttered  some 
terrible  words.  We  began  over  and  over  again,  but  it  was  all 
to  no  purpose.  The  spoken  choruses  were  simply  abominable. 
Chilly  exclaimed  at  last : 

' '  Well,  let  the  young  one  say  all  the  spoken  choruses.  That 
would  be  right  enough  with  her  pretty  voice!  " 

Duquesnel  did  not  utter  a  W'Ord,  but  he  pulled  his  mustache 
to  hide  a  smile.  Chilly  was  coming  round  to  his  protegee  after 
all.  He  nodded  his  head  in  an  indifferent  way  in  answer  to  his 
partner's  questioning  look,  and  we  began  again,  I  reading  all 
the  spoken  choruses.  Everyone  applauded,  and  the  conductor 
of  the  orchestra  was  delighted,  for  the  poor  man  had  suffered 
enough.  The  first  performance  was  a  veritable  small  triumph 
for  me !  Oh !  quite  a  small  one,  but  still  full  of  promise  for  my 
future.  The  public,  charmed  with  the  sweetness  of  my  voice 
and  its  crystal  purity,  encored  the  part  of  the  spoken  choruses, 
and  I  was  rewarded  by  three  bursts  of  applause. 

At  the  end  of  the  act  Chilly  came  to  me  and  said : 

"  You  were  adorable!  "  He  addressed  me  familiarly,  using 
the  French  ihon,  and  this  rather  annoyed  me;  but  I  answered 
mischievously,  using  the  same  form  of  speech : 

* '  You  think  I  am  not  so  thin  now  ?  ' ' 

132 


I    RETURN    TO    THE    STAGE 

He  burst  into  a  fit  of  laughter,  and  from  that  day  forth  we 
both  used  the  familiar  thou  and  became  the  best  friends  im- 
aginable. 

Oh,  that  Odeon  Theater !  It  is  the  theater  I  have  loved  most. 
I  was  very  sorry  to  leave  it,  for  everyone  liked  each  other 
there,  and  everyone  was  gay.  The  theater  was  a  little  like  the 
continuation  of  school.  The  young  artistes  came  there,  and 
Duquesnel  was  an  intelligent  manager,  and  very  polite  and 
young  himself.  During  the  rehearsal  we  often  went  off,  several 
of  us  together,  to  play  at  hide  and  seek  in  the  Luxembourg, 
during  the  scenes  in  which  we  were  not  acting.  I  used  to  think 
of  my  few  months  at  the  Comedie  Francaise.  The  little  world 
I  had  known  there  had  been  stiff,  scandal-mongering,  and  jeal- 
ous. I  recalled  my  few  months  at  the  Gymnase.  Hats  and 
dresses  were  always  discussed  there,  and  everyone  chattered 
about  a  hundred  things  that  had  nothing  to  do  with  art. 

At  the  Odeon  I  was  very  happy.  We  thought  of  nothing 
but  putting  on  plays,  and  we  rehearsed  morning,  afternoon, 
and  at  all  hours,  and  I  liked  that  very  much. 

For  the  summer  I  had  taken  a  little  house  in  the  Villa  Mont- 
morency at  Auteuil.  I  went  to  the  theater  in  a  "  little  duke," 
which  I  drove  myself.  I  had  two  wonderful  ponies  that  Aunt 
Rosine  had  given  to  me, 'because  they  had  very  nearly  broken 
her  neck  by  taking  fright  at  St.  Cloud  at  a  whirligig  of  wooden 
horses.  I  used  to  drive  at  full  speed  along  the  quays,  and  in 
spite  of  the  atmosphere  brilliant  with  the  July  sunshine  and 
the  gayety  of  everything  outside,  I  always  ran  up  the  cold, 
cracked  steps  of  the  theater  with  veritable  joy,  and  rushed  up 
to  my  dressing-room,  wishing  everyone  I  passed  "  Good  morn- 
ing "  on  my  way.  "When  I  had  taken  off  my  coat  and  gloves 
I  went  on  the  stage,  delighted  to  bo  once  more  in  that  infinite 
darkness  with  only  a  poor  light,  a  servantc,  hanging  here  and 
there  on  a  tree,  a  turret,  a  wall,  or  placed  on  a  bench,  thrown 
on  the  faces  of  the  artistes  for  a  few  seconds. 

There  was  nothing  more  vivifying  for  me  than  that  atmos- 
phere full  of  microbes,  nothing  more  gay  than  that  obscurity, 
and  nothing  more  brilliant  than  that  darkness. 

133 


mi:m()J{Ii:s  oi*  mv   liii-: 

Ono  (lay  my  motlicr  liad  the  curiosity  to  covnc  bchinrl  the 
scenes.     I  thought  she  would  liave  died  with  horror  and  disgiLSt. 

"  Oh,  you  poor  child!  "  she  murmured,  "  How  can  you  live 
in  that?  "  When  once  she  was  outside  aj^ain  she  be^'an  to 
breatlie  freely,  taking?  long  gasps  several  times.  Oh !  yes,  I  could 
live  in  it,  and  I  could  scarcely  live  except  in  it.  Since  then 
I  have  changed  a  little,  but  I  still  have  a  great  liking  for  that 
gloomy  workshop  in  which  we  joyous  lapidaries  of  art  cut  the 
precious  stones  supplied  to  us  by  the  poets. 

The  days  passed  by,  carrying  away  with  them  all  our  little 
disappointed  hopes,  and  fresh  days  dawned  bringing  fresh 
dreams,  so  that  life  seemed  to  me  eternal  happiness.  I  played 
in  turn  in  "  Le  Martiuis  de  Villemer  "  and  "  Francois  le 
Champi."  In  the  former  I  took  the  part  of  the  foolish  Baron- 
ess, an  expert  woman  of  thirty-five  years  of  age.  I  was  scarcely 
twenty-one  myself,  and  I  looked  seventeen.  In  the  second  piece 
I  played  Mariette,  and  had  great  success. 

Those  rehearsals  of  the  "  Marquis  de  Villemer  "  and 
"  Francois  le  Champi  "  have  remained  in  my  memory  as  so 
many  exquisite  hours. 

Mme.  George  Sand  was  a  sweet,  charming  creature,  ex- 
tremely timid.  She  did  not  talk  much,  but  smoked  all  the  time. 
Her  large  eyes  were  always  dreamy,  and  her  mouth,  which  was 
rather  heavy  and  common,  had  the  kindest  expression.  She  had, 
perhaps,  a  medium-sized  figure,  but  she  was  no  longer  upright. 
I  used  to  watch  her  with  the  most  romantic  affection,  for  had 
she  not  been  the  heroine  of  a  fine  love  romance ! 

I  used  to  sit  do-wn  by  her,  and  when  I  took  her  hand  in 
mine  I  held  it  as  long  as  possible.  Her  voice,  too,  was  gentle 
and  fascinating. 

Prince  Napoleon,  commonly  known  as  "  Plon-Plon,"  often 
used  to  come  to  George  Sand's  rehearsals.  He  was  extremely 
fond  of  her.  The  first  time  I  ever  saw  that  man  I  turned  pale, 
and  felt  as  though  my  heart  had  stopped  beating.  He  looked 
so  much  like  Napoleon  I. 

IMme.  Sand  introduced  me  to  him  in  spite  of  my  wishes. 
He  looked  at  me  in  an  impertinent  way,  and  I  did  not  like  him. 

134 


SARAH    BERNHARDT    IN    "FRANCOIS   LE   CHAMPI. 


I    RETURN    TO    THE    STAGE 

I  scarcely  replied  to  his  compliments,  and  went  closer  to  George 
Sand. 

**  Why,  she  is  in  love  with  you!  "  he  exclaimed,  laughing. 

George  Sand  stroked  my  cheek  gently. 

"  She  is  my  little  Madonna,"  she  answered,  "  do  not  tor- 
ment her." 

I  stayed  with  her,  casting  displeased  and  furtive  glances 
at  the  prince.  Gradually,  though,  I  began  to  enjoy  listening 
to  him,  for  his  conversation  was  brilliant,  serious,  and  at  the 
same  time  witty.  lie  sprinkled  his  discourses  and  his  replies 
with  words  that  were  a  trifle  crude,  but  all  that  he  said  was 
interesting  and  instructive.  He  was  not  very  indulgent,  though, 
and  I  have  heard  him  say  base,  horrible  things  about  little 
Thiers  which  I  believe  had  little  truth  in  them.  He  drew  such 
an  amusing  portrait  one  day  of  that  agreeable  Louis  Bouilhet, 
that  George  Sand,  w'ho  liked  him,  could  not  help  laughing, 
although  she  called  the  prince  a  bad  man.  He  was  very  uncere- 
monious, too,  but  at  the  same  time  he  did  not  like  people  to 
be  wanting  in  respect  to  him.  One  day  an  artiste  named  Paul 
Deshayes,  who  was  playing  in  "  Francois  le  Champi, "  came 
into  the  artistes'  foyer.  Prince  Napoleon  was  there,  Mme. 
George  Sand,  the  curator  of  the  library,  Avhose  name  I  have 
forgotten,  and  I.  This  artiste  was  common  and  something  of  an 
anarchist.  He  bowed  to  Mme.  Sand  and,  addressing  the  prince, 
said : 

"  You  are  sitting  on  my  gloves,  sir." 

The  prince  scarcely  moved,  pulled  the  gloves  out  and,  throw- 
ing them  on  the  floor,  remarked: 

"  I  thought  this  seat  was  clean." 

The  actor  colored,  picked  up  the  gloves,  and  went  away 
murmuring  some  revolutionary  threat. 

I  played  the  part  of  Hortense  in  "  Le  Testament  de  Cesar 
Girodot,"  and  of  Anna  Danhy  in  Alexandre  Dumas'  "  Kean." 

On  the  evening  of  the  first  performance  of  the  latter  piece 
the  public  was  very  disagreeable.  Dumas'  pere  was  quite  out 
of  favor,  on  account  of  a  private  matter  that  had  nothing  to 
do  with  art.     Politics,  for  some  time  past,  had  been  exciting 

135 


MEMORIES    OF    M\     LIFE 

everyone,  and  the  return  of  Victor  Hugo  from  exile  was  very 
much  desired.  When  Dumas  entered  his  box,  he  was  ^'reeted 
by  yells.  The  students  were  there  in  full  force,  and  they  began 
shouting  for  h'liy  Bias.  Dumas  ro.se  and  asked  to  be  allowed 
to  speak.  "  My  young  friends  .  ..."  he  began,  as  soon  as 
there  was  silence.  "  We  are  quite  willing  to  listen,"  called  out 
some  one,  "  but  you  nnist  be  alone  in  your  box." 

Dumas  protested  vehemently.  Several  mem])ers  of  the  or- 
chestra took  his  side,  for  he  had  invited  a  woman  into  his  box, 
and  whoever  that  woman  might  be,  no  one  had  any  right  to 
insult  her  in  so  outrageous  a  manner.  I  had  never  yet  wit- 
nessed a  scene  of  this  kind.  I  looked  through  the  hole  in  the 
curtain,  and  was  very  mueli  interested  and  excited.  I  saw 
our  great  Dumas,  pale  with  anger,  clenching  his  fists,  shouting, 
swearing,  and  storming.  Then  suddenly  there  was  a  burst  of 
applause.  The  woman  had  disappeared  from  the  box.  She 
had  taken  advantage  of  the  moment  when  Dumas,  leaning  well 
over  the  front  of  the  box,  was  answering: 

"  No,  no,  this  woman  shall  not  leave  the  box!  " 

Just  at  this  moment  she  slipped  away,  and  the  whole  house, 
delighted,  shouted:  "Bravo!"  Dumas  was  then  allowed  to 
continue,  but  only  for  a  few  seconds.  Cries  of  "  I\ujj  Bias! 
Buy  Bias!  Victor  Hugo!  Hugo!  "  could  then  be  heard  again 
in  the  midst  of  an  uproar  truly  infernal.  We  had  been  ready 
to  commence  the  play  for  an  hour,  and  I  was  greatly  excited. 
Chilly  and  Duquesnel  then  came  to  us  on  the  stage. 

Courage,  mes  cnfants,  for  the  house  has  gone  mad," 
they  said.  "  We  will  commence,  anyhow,  let  what  will 
happen!  " 

"I'm  afraid  I  shall  faint,"  I  said  to  Duquesnel.  :My  hands 
were  as  cold  as  ice  and  my  heart  was  beating  wildly.  "  What 
am  I  to  do,"  I  asked  him,  "  if  I  get  too  frightened?  " 

"  There's  nothing  to  be  done,"  he  replied.  "  Be  frightened, 
but  go  on  playing,  and  don't  faint  upon  any  account!  " 

The  curtain  was  drawn  up  in  the  midst  of  a  veritable  tem- 
pest, bird  cries,  mewing  of  cats,  and  a  heavy  rhythmical  re- 
frain of  "  Buy  Bias!  Buy  Bias!  Victor  Hugo!  Victor  Hugo!  " 

136 


I    RETURN    TO    THE    STAGE 

My  turn  came.  Berton  pere,  who  was  playing  Kean,  had 
been  received  badly.  I  was  wearing  the  eccentric  costume  of 
an  Englishwoman  in  the  year  1820.  As  soon  as  I  appeared  I 
heard  a  burst  of  laughter,  and  I  stood  still,  rooted  to  the  spot 
in  the  doorway.  But  the  very  same  instant  the  cheers  of  my 
dear  friends,  the  students,  drowned  the  laughter  of  the  dis- 
agreeable people.  I  took  courage,  and  even  felt  a  desire  to  fight. 
But  it  Avas  not  necessary,  for  after  the  second,  endlessly  long, 
harangue,  in  which  I  give  an  idea  of  my  love  for  Kean,  the 
house  was  delighted,  and  gave  me  an  ovation.  Ignotus  wrote 
the  following  paragraph  in  the  Figaro : 

"  Mile.  Sarah  Bernhardt  appeared  wearing  an  eccentric 
costume,  which  increased  the  tumult,  but  her  rich  voice — that 
astonishing  voice  of  hers — appealed  to  the  public,  and  she 
charmed  them  like  a  little  Orpheus." 

After  "  Kean  "  I  played  in  "La  Loterie  du  Mariage." 
When  we  were  rehearsing  the  piece.  Agar  came  up  to  me  one 
day,  in  the  corner  where  I  usually  sat.  I  had  a  little  armchair 
there  from  my  dressing-room,  and  put  my  feet  up  on  a  straw 
chair.  I  liked  this  place,  because  there  was  a  little  gas  burner 
there,  and  I  could  work  while  waiting  for  my  turn  to  go  on 
the  stage.  I  loved  embroidering  and  tapestry  work.  I  had  a 
quantity  of  different  kinds  of  fancy  work  commenced,  and  could 
take  up  one  or  the  other  as  I  felt  inclined. 

]\Ille.  Agar  was  an  admirable  creature.  She  had  evidently 
been  created  for  the  joy  of  the  eyes.  She  was  a  brunette,  tall, 
pale,  with  large,  dark,  gentle  eyes,  a  very  small  mouth  with 
full  rounded  lips,  which  went  up  at  the  corners  in  an  almost 
imperceptible  smile.  She  had  exquisite  teeth,  and  her  head 
was  covered  with  thick,  glossy  hair.  She  was  the  living  in- 
carnation of  one  of  the  most  beautiful  types  of  ancient  Greece. 
Her  pretty  hands  were  long  and  rather  soft,  while  her  slow 
and  rather  heavy  walk  completed  the  evocation.  She  was  the 
great  tragedian  of  the  Odeon  Theater.  She  approached  me 
with  her  measured  tread,  followed  by  a  young  man  of  from 
twenty-four  to  twenty -six  years  of  age. 

"  Well,  my  dear,"  she  said,  kissing  me,  "  there  is  a  chance 

137 


MEMORIES    OF    MY    LIFE 

for  you  to  make  a  poet  liiii)py."  She  then  introduced  l-'riuicois 
Coppoo.  I  invited  tho  youuj,'  niau  to  sit  down,  and  then  I  looked 
at  liini  more  tliorou;_ddy.  His  liandsouic  faco,  cinafiatcd  and 
pale,  was  that  of  tlio  iuiinoi'tal  Bonaparte.  A  thrill  of  emotion 
went  tlirou<,di  mo,  for  1  adored  Napoleon  I. 

"  Are  you  a  poet,  monsieur?  "  I  asked. 

"  Yes,   inademoiselle." 

Tlis  voice,  too,  trembled,  for  lie  was  still  more  tinii<l  than 
I  was. 

"  I  have  written  a  little  piece,"  he  continued,  "  and  Mile. 
Agar  is  sure  that  you  will   play  it  with  her." 

"  Yes,  my  dear,"  put  in  Agar,  "  you  are  going  to  play  it 
for  him.  It  is  a  little  masterpiece,  and  I  am  sure  you  will 
have  a  gigantic  success!  " 

"  Oh,  and  you,  too!  You  will  be  so  beautiful  in  it!  "  said 
the  poet,  gazing  rapturously  at  Agar. 

I  w^as  called  on  to  the  stage  just  at  this  moment,  and  on 
returning  a  iew  minutes  later  I  found  the  young  poet  talking 
in  a  low  voice  to  the  beautiful  tragedian,  I  coughed,  and  Agar, 
who  had  taken  my  armchair,  wanted  to  give  it  back.  On  my 
refusing  it  she  pulled  me  down  on  her  lap.  The  young  man 
drew  up  his  chair  and  we  chatted  away  together,  our  three 
heads  almost  touching.  It  was  decided  that  after  reading  the 
piece  I  should  show  it  to  Duquesnel,  who  alone  was  capable 
of  judging  poetry,  and  that  we  should  then  get  permission  from 

both  managers  to  play  it  for  the  benefit  of  ]\I.  X after  the 

first  performance.  The  young  man  was  delighted,  and  his  pale 
face  lighted  up  wdth  a  grateful  smile  as  he  shook  hands  ex- 
citedly. Agar  walked  away  with  him  as  far  as  the  little  land- 
ing which  projected  over  the  stage.  I  watched  them  as  they 
went,  the  magnificent,  statuelike  woman  and  the  slender  outline 
of  the  young  writer.  Agar  was  perhaps  thirty-five  at  that  time. 
She  was  certainly  very  beautiful,  but  to  me  there  was  no  charm 
about  her,  and  I  could  not  understand  why  this  poetical  Bona- 
parte was  in  love  with  this  matronly  woman.  It  was  as  clear  as 
daylight  that  he  was,  and  she,  too,  appeared  to  be,  in  love.  This 
interested  me  infinitely.     I   watched  them  clasp   each  other's 

138 


I    RETURN    TO    THE    STAGE 

hands,  and  then,  with  an  abrupt  and  ahnost  awkward  move- 
ment, the  young  poet  bent  over  the  beautiful  hand  he  was 
holding  and  kissed  it  fervently.  Agar  came  back  to  me  with 
a  faint  color  in  her  cheeks.  This  was  rare  with  her,  for  she 
had  a  marblelike  complexion.  "  Here  is  the  manuscript,"  she 
said,  giving  me  a  little  roll  of  paper. 

The  rehearsal  was  over  and  I  wished  Agar  good-by;  and, 
on  my  way  home,  read  the  piece  while  driving.  I  was  so  de- 
lighted with  it  that  I  drove  straight  back  to  the  theater  to  give 
it  to  Duquesnel  at  once.     I  met  him  coming  downstairs. 

*'  Do  come  back  again,  please,"  I  exclaimed. 

"  Good  heavens,  ray  dear  girl,  what  is  the  matter?  "  he 
asked.  "  You  look  as  though  you  have  won  a  big  lottery 
prize!  " 

"  Well,  it  is  something  like  that,"  I  said,  and  entering  his 
office  I  produced  the  manuscript. 

"  Read  this,  please,"  I  continued. 

"  I'll  take  it  with  me,"  he  said. 

' '  Oh,  no,  read  it  here  at  once !  "  I  insisted.  ' '  Shall  I  read 
it  to  you?  " 

' '  No,  no, ' '  he  replied,  ' '  your  voice  is  treacherous.  It  makes 
charming  poetry  of  the  worst  lines  possible.  Well,  let  me  have 
it,"  he  continued,  sitting  down  in  his  armchair.  He  began  to 
read,  while  I  looked  at  the  newspapers. 

"  It's  delicious,"  he  soon  exclaimed.  "  It's  a  perfect  mas- 
terpiece !  ' ' 

I  sprang  to  my  feet  in  my  joy. 

"  And  you  will  get  Chilly  to  accept  it?  " 

*  *  Oh,  yes,  you  can  make  your  mind  easy !  But  when  do  you 
want  to  play  it?  " 

"  Well,  the  author  seems  to  be  in  a  great  hurry,"  I  said, 
"  and  Agar,  too " 

"  And  you  as  well,"  he  put  in,  laughing,  "  for  this  is  a  role 
that  just  suits  your  fancy. ' ' 

"  Yes,  my  dear  Duq,"  I  acknowledged.  "  I,  too,  want  it 
put  on  at  once.    Do  you  want  to  be  very  nice?  "  I  added.     "  If 

so,  let  us  have  it  for  the  benefit  of  M.  X in  a  fortnight  from 

139 


MEMORIES    Ol'    MV    LIFE 

now.     'I'liMt    woiiM    not    make   ntiy   dilToronco  to  other  arrange- 
ments, and  our  poet  would  be  so  hai)j)y.'' 

"  (lood!  "  said  Dmiuesnel,  "  I  will  settle  it  like  that.  What 
about  the  scenery,  thoufrh?  "  he  muttered,  meditatively,  biting 
his  nails,  which  were  his  favorite  meal  when  disturbed  in  his 
mind. 

I  had  already  thou<j:ht  that  out,  so  I  offered  to  drive  him 
home  and  on  the  way  I  put  my  plan  before  him. 

We  might  have  the  scenery  of  "  Jeanne  de  Signoris, "  a 
piece  that  had  recently  been  put  on  and  taken  off  again  im- 
mediately, after  being  jeered  at  by  the  public.  The  scenery 
consisted  of  a  superb  Italian  park,  with  flowers,  statu&s,  and 
even  a  flight  of  steps.  As  to  costumes,  if  we  spoke  of  them 
to  Chilly,  no  matter  how  little  they  might  cost,  he  would  shriek, 
as  he  had  done  in  his  role  of  Rodin.  The  only  thing  for  it 
was  that  Agar  and  I  would  have  to  supply  our  own  costumes. 

On  arriving  at  Duqnesnel's  house,  he  suddenly  asked  me  to 
go  in  with  him  and  discuss  the  costumes  with  his  wife.  I  ac- 
cepted his  invitation,  and,  after  kissing  the  prettiest  face  im- 
aginable, I  told  the  owner  of  the  face  about  our  plot.  She  ap- 
proved of  everything,  and  promised  to  begin  at  once  to  look 
out  for  pretty  designs  for  our  costumes.  While  she  was  talking 
I  compared  her  with  Agar.  Oh,  how  much  I  preferred  that 
charming  head  with  its  fair  hair,  those  large,  limpid  eyes,  and 
the  whole  face,  with  its  tw^o  little  pink  dimples!  Her  hair  was 
soft  and  light,  and  formed  a  halo  round  her  forehead.  I  ad- 
mired, too,  her  delicate  wrists,  finishing  with  the  prettiest  hands 
imaginable,  hands  that  were,  later  on,  quite  famous. 

On  leaving  the  friendly  couple  I  drove  straight  to  Agar's, 
to  tell  her  what  had  happened.  She  kissed  me  over  and  over 
again,  and  a  cousin  of  hers,  a  priest,  who  happened  to  be  there, 
appeared  to  be  very  delighted  with  my  story.  He  seemed  to 
know  about  everything.  Presently  there  was  a  timid  ring  at 
the  bell,  and  Frangois  Coppee  was  announced. 

"  I  am  just  going  away,"  I  said  to  him,  as  I  met  him  in 
the  doorway  and  shook  hands.  "  Agar  will  tell  you  every- 
thing." 

140 


I    RETURN    TO    THE    STAGE 

The  rehearsals  of  his  piece,  "  Le  Passant,"  commenced  very 
soon  after  this,  and  were  delightful,  for  the  shy  young  poet  was 
a  most  interesting  and  intelligent  talker. 

The  first  performance  took  place  as  arranged,  and  "  Le 
Passant  "  was  a  veritable  triumph.  The  whole  house  cheered 
over  and  over  again,  and  the  curtain  was  raised  eight  times 
for  Agar  and  me.  We  tried  in  vain  to  bring  the  author  for- 
ward, as  the  public  wnshed  to  see  him.  Francois  Coppee  was 
not  to  be  found.  The  young  poet,  hitherto  unknown,  had  be- 
come famous  within  a  few  hours.  His  name  was  on  all  lips.  As 
for  Agar  and  myself,  we  were  simply  overwhelmed  with  praise, 
and  Chilly  wanted  to  pay  for  our  costumes.  We  played  this 
one-act  piece  more  than  a  hundred  times  consecutively,  to  a  full 
house.  We  were  asked  to  give  it  at  the  Tuileries,  and  at  the 
house  of  the  Princess  Mathilde.  Oh,  that  first  performance  at 
the  Tuileries !  It  is  stamped  on  my  brain  forever,  and  with  my 
eyes  shut  I  can  see  every  detail  again,  even  now. 

It  had  been  managed,  between  Duquesnel  and  the  official 
sent  from  the  court,  that  Agar  and  I  should  go  to  the  Tuileries 
to  see  the  room  where  we  were  to  play,  in  order  to  have  it  ar- 
ranged according  to  the  requirements  of  the  piece.  The  Comte 
de  Laferriere  was  to  introduce  me  to  the  Emperor,  who  would 
then  introduce  me  to  the  Empress  Eugenie.  Agar  was  to  be 
introduced  by  the  Princess  Mathilde,  for  whom  she  was  then 
sitting  as  Minerva. 

M.  De  Laferriere  came  for  me  at  nine  o'clock  in  a  state 
carriage,  and  Mme.  Guerard  accompanied  me. 

M.  De  Laferriere  was  a  very  agreeable  man  with  rather  stiff 
manners.  As  we  were  turning  round  the  Rue  Royale  the  car- 
riage had  to  draw  up  an  instant,  and  General  Fleury  ap- 
proached us.  I  knew  him,  as  he  had  been  introduced  to  me  by 
Morny.  He  spoke  to  us,  and  the  Comte  de  Laferriere  explained 
where  we  were  going.  As  he  left  us  he  said  to  me:  "  Good 
luck !  ' '  Just  at  that  moment  a  man  who  was  passing  by  took 
up  the  words  and  called  out:  "Good  luck,  perhaps,  but  not 
for  long,  you  crowd  of  good-for-nothings!  " 

On  arriving  at  the  Tuileries  Palace  we  all  three  got  out  of 

141 


MEMORIES    OF    MV    LIFE 

the  carria^'c,  and  wci-c  sliowii  into  a  small  ytliow  drawing-room 
on  the  fii'ound  floor. 

"  I  will  f^o  and  inronn  liis  majesty  that  you  are  h<*re, "  said 
]\I.  De  LafVrriere,  leaving  us. 

When  alone  with  I\lme.  (Juerard,  F  lliouudit  1  would  i-('lit*ar.se 
my  three  courtesies: 

*'  Now,  tna  petite  dame,^^  I  said,  "  tell  me  whether  they  are 
right." 

I  made  the  courtesies,  murmnrin«r,  "  Sire — Sire."  I  began 
over  again  several  times,  looking  down  at  my  dress,  as  I  said 
"  Sire,"  when  suddenly  I  heard  a  stifled  laugh. 

I  stood  lip  quickly,  furious  with  Mme.  Guerard,  but  I  saw 
that  she,  too,  was  bent  over  in  a  half  circle.  I  turned  round 
quickly,  and  behind  me  was — the  Emperor.  He  was  clapping 
his  hands  silently  and  laughing  quietly,  but  still  he  2vas  laugh- 
ing. My  face  flushed,  and  I  was  embarrassed,  for  I  wondered 
how  long  he  had  been  there.  I  had  been  courtesying  I  do  not 
know  how  many  times,  trying  to  get  my  reverence  to  my  mind, 
and  saying:  "  There — that's  too  low,  though — There,  is  that 
right,  Guerard?  "  "  Good  heavens!  "  I  now  said  to  myself, 
"  has  he  heard  all  that?  "  In  spite  of  my  confusion,  I  now 
made  my  courtesy  again,  but  the  Emperor  said,  smiling: 

"  It's  no  use,  it  could  not  be  better  than  it  was  just  now. 
Same  them  for  the  Empress,  w'ho  is  expecting  you." 

Oh!  that  "  just  now,"  I  w^ondered  w'hen  it  had  been. 

I  could  not  question  Mme.  Guerard,  as  she  was  following  at 
some  distance  with  M.  De  Laferriere.  The  Emperor  was  at  my 
side,  talking  to  me  of  a  hundred  things,  but  I  could  only  an- 
swer in  an  absent-minded  way  on  account  of  that  "  just  now." 

I  liked  him  much  better  like  this,  quite  near,  than  in  his 
portraits.  He  had  such  fine  eyes,  which  he  half  closed  while 
looking  through  his  long  lashes.  His  smile  was  sad  and  rather 
mocking.     His  face  was  pale,  and  his  voice  faint,  but  seductive. 

We  found  the  Empress  seated  in  a  large  armchair.  Her  body 
was  encased  in  a  gray  dress,  and  seemed  to  have  been  molded 
into  the  material.  I  thought  her  very  beautiful.  She,  too, 
was  more  beautiful  than  her  portrait.     I  made  my  three  cour- 

142 


I    RETURN    TO    THE    STAGE 

tesies  under  the  laughing  eyes  of  the  Emperor.  The  Empress 
spoke,  and  the  spell  was  then  broken.  That  rough,  hard  voice 
coming  from  that  brilliant  woman  gave  me  a  shock. 

From  that  moment  I  felt  ill  at  ease  with  her,  in  spite  of  her 
graciousness  and  her  kindnass.  As  soon  as  Agar  arrived  and 
had  been  introduced,  the  Empress  had  us  conducted  to  the  large 
drawing-room,  where  the  performance  was  to  take  place.  The 
measurements  were  taken  for  the  platform,  and  there  was  to 
be  the  flight  of  steps,  where  Agar  had  to  pose  as  the  unhappy 
courtesan  cursing  mercenary  love,  and  longing  for  ideal  love. 

This  flight  of  steps  was  quite  a  problem.  They  were  sup- 
posed to  represent  the  first  three  steps  of  a  huge  flight,  leading 
up  to  a  Florentine  palace,  and  had  to  be  half  hidden  in  some 
way.  I  asked  for  some  shrubs  and  flowering  plants,  which  I 
arranged  along  all  three  of  the  steps. 

The  Prince  Imperial,  who  had  come  in,  was  then  about  thir- 
teen years  of  age.  He  helped  me  to  arrange  the  plants,  and 
laughed  wildly  when  Agar  mounted  the  steps  to  try  the  efi'ect. 

He  was  delicious,  with  his  magnificent  eyes  with  heavy  lids 
like  those  of  his  mother,  and  with  his  father's  long  eyelashes. 
He  was  witty,  like  the  Emperor,  whom  people  surnamed  ' '  Louis 
the  Imbecile,"  and  who  certainly  had  the  most  refined,  subtle, 
and  at  the  same  time  the  most  generous  wit. 

We  arranged  everything  as  well  as  we  could,  and  it  was  de- 
cided that  we  should  return  two  days  later  for  a  rehearsal  be- 
fore their  majesties. 

How  gracefully  the  Prince  Imperial  asked  permission  to  be 
present  at  the  rehearsal!  His  request  was  granted,  and  the 
Empress  then  took  leave  of  us  in  the  most  charming  manner; 
but  her  voice  was  very  ugly.  She  told  the  two  ladies  who  were 
with  her  to  give  us  wine  and  biscuits  and  to  show  us  over  the 
palace  if  we  wished  to  see  it.  I  did  not  care  much  about  this, 
but  ma  petite  dame  and  Agar  seemed  so  delighted  at  the  offer 
that  I  gave  in  to  them. 

I  have  regretted  ever  since  that  I  did  so,  for  nothing  could 
have  been  uglier  than  the  private  rooms,  with  the  exception 
of  the  Emperor's  study  and  the  staircases.     This  inspection  of 

143 


MK.MORIES    OF    MV    LIFE 

the  palace  bored  me  terribly.  A  f(nv  of  the  i)ictnres  consoled 
me,  and  I  stayed  some  tiine  gazing  at  Winterhalter's  ])ortrait 
representing  the  Empress  Eugenie,  She  looked  beautiftil,  and 
I  thanked  Heaven  that  the  poi-trait  could  not  speak,  for  it  served 
to  explain  and  justify  the  wonderful  good  luck  of  her  majesty. 

The  rehearsal  took  place  without  any  special  incident.  The 
young  prince  did  his  utmost  to  prove  to  us  his  gratitude  and 
delight,  for  it  was  a  dress  rehearsal  on  his  account,  as  he  was 
not  to  be  present  at  the  soiree.  He  sketched  my  costume,  and 
intended  to  have  it  coi)ied  for  a  costume  ball  which  was  to  be 
given  for  the  imperial  child.  Our  performance  was  in  honor 
of  the  Queen  of  Holland,  accompanied  by  the  Prince  of  Orange, 
commonly  known  in  Paris  as  "  Prince  Citron." 

A  rather  amusing  incident  occurred  during  the  evening. 
The  Empress  had  remarkably  small  feet,  and,  in  order  to  make 
them  look  still  smaller,  she  forced  them  into  shoes  that  were  too 
narrow.  She  looked  w^onderfully  beautiful  that  night,  with  her 
pretty  sloping  shoulders  emerging  from  a  dress  of  pale  blue 
satin,  embroidered  with  silver.  On  her  lovely  hair  she  was 
wearing  a  little  diadem  of  turquoises  and  diamonds,  and  her 
small  feet  were  on  a  cushion  of  silver  brocade.  All  through 
Coppee's  piece,  my  eyes  wandered  frequently  to  this  cushion, 
and  I  saw  the  two  little  feet  moving  restlessly  about.  Finally, 
I  saw  one  of  the  shoes  pushing  its  little  brother  very,  very 
gently,  and  then  I  saw  the  heel  of  the  empress  come  out  of  its 
prison.  The  foot  was  then  only  covered  at  the  toe,  and  I  was 
very  anxious  to  know  how  it  would  get  back,  for,  under  such 
circumstances,  the  foot  swells  and  cannot  go  into  a  shoe  that 
is  too  narrow.  When  the  piece  was  over,  we  were  recalled  twice, 
and  as  it  w^as  the  Empress  who  gave  the  signal  for  the  applause, 
I  thought  she  was  putting  off  the  moment  for  getting  up,  and 
I  saw  her  pretty  little  sore  foot  trying  in  vain  to  get  back  into 
its  shoe.  The  light  curtain  went  down,  and  as  I  had  told  Agar 
about  the  cushion  drama,  we  watched  the  various  phases  through 
the  divisions  in  the  curtains. 

The  Emperor  rose  and  everyone  followed  his  example.  He 
offered  his  arm  to  the  Queen  of  Holland,  but  she  looked  at  the 

144 


I    RETURN    TO    THE    STAGE 

Empress,  who  had  not  yet  risen.  The  Emperor's  face  lighted 
up  with  that  smile  which  I  had  already  seen.  He  said  a  word 
to  General  Fleury,  and  immediately  the  generals  and  other 
officers  on  duty,  who  were  seated  behind  the  sovereigns,  formed 
a  rampart  between  the  crowd  and  the  Empress.  The  Emperor 
and  the  Queen  of  Holland  then  passed  on,  without  appearing 
to  have  noticed  her  majesty 's  distress,  and  the  Prince  of  Orange, 
with  one  knee  on  the  ground,  helped  the  beautiful  sovereign 
to  put  on  her  Cinderella-like  slipper.  I  saw  that  the  Empress 
leaned  more  heavily  on  the  prince's  arm  than  she  liked,  for 
her  pretty  foot  was  evidently  rather  painful. 

We  were  then  sent  for  to  be  complimented,  and  we  were 
surrounded  and  feted  so  much  that  we  were  delighted  with  our 
evening. 


n  145 


CHAPTER    X 


IN   FIRE   AND   WAR 


(^^^FTER  *'  Le  Passant  "  and  the  famous  success  of  that 
adorable  piece,  a  success  in  which  Agar  and  I  had 
our  share,  Chilly  thought  more  of  me  and  began 
to  like  me.  He  insisted  on  paying  for  our  costumes, 
which  was  great  extravagance  for  him.  I  had  become  the 
adored  queen  of  the  students,  and  I  used  to  receive  little  bou- 
quets of  violets,  sonnets,  and  long,  long  poems — too  long  to  read. 
Sometimes,  on  arriving  at  the  theater,  as  I  was  getting  out  of 
my  carriage,  I  received  a  shower  of  flowers  which  simply  cov- 
ered me,  and  I  was  delighted  and  used  to  thank  my  worshipers. 
The  only  thing  was  that  their  admiration  blinded  them,  so  that 
when  in  some  pieces  I  was  not  so  good,  and  the  house  was  rather 
chary  of  applause,  my  little  army  of  students  would  be  indig- 
nant, and  would  cheer  wildly,  without  rhyme  or  reason.  I  can 
understand  quite  well  that  this  used  to  exasperate  the  regular 
subscribers  of  the  Odeon,  who  were  very  kindly  disposed  to- 
ward me,  nevertheless.  They,  too,  used  to  spoil  me,  but  they 
would  have  liked  me  to  be  more  humble  and  meek,  and  less 
headstrong.  How  many  times  one  or  another  of  those  old  sub- 
scribers would  come  and  give  me  a  word  of  ad\nce !  ' '  ]\Iade- 
moiselle,  you  were  charming  in  '  Junie, '  ' '  one  of  them  observed, 
"  but  you  bite  your  lips,  and  the  Roman  women  never  did 
that !  "  "  My  dear  girl, ' '  another  one  said,  ' '  you  were  deli- 
cious in  *  Francois  le  Champi,'  but  there  is  not  a  single  Breton 
woman  in  the  whole  of  Brittany  with  her  hair  frizzed." 

A  professor  from  the  Sorbonne  said  to  me  one  day,  rather 

146 


IN    FIRE    AND    WAR 

curtly:  "It  is  a  want  of  respect,  mademoiselle,  to  turn  your 
back  on  the  public!  " 

"  But,  monsieur,"  I  replied,  "  I  was  accompanying  an  old 
lady  to  a  door  at  the  back  of  the  stage.  I  could  not  walk  along 
with  her  backward." 

"  The  artistes  we  had  before  you,  mademoiselle,  who  were 
quite  as  talented,  found  a  way  of  going  across  the  stage  with- 
out turning  their  backs  on  the  public."  With  this  he  turned 
quickly  on  his  heels  and  was  going  away,  but  I  stopped  him. 

"  Monsieur,  wnll  you  go  to  that  door,  through  which  you 
intended  to  pass,  without  turning  your  back  on  me?  " 

He  made  an  attempt,  and  then,  furious,  turned  his  back  on 
me  and  disappeared,  slamming  the  door  after  him. 

I  lived  for  some  time  at  16  Rue  Auber,  in  a  flat  on  the  first 
floor,  which  was  rather  a  nice  one.  I  had  furnished  it  with  old 
Dutch  furniture  which  my  grandmother  had  sent  me.  My  god- 
father advised  me  to  insure  against  fire,  as  this  furniture,  he 
assured  me,  constituted  a  small  fortune.  I  decided  to  follow 
his  advice,  and  asked  my  petite  dame  to  take  the  necessary  steps 
for  me.  A  few  days  later,  she  told  me  that  some  one  would 
call  about  it  on  the  12th.  On  the  day  in  question,  toward 
two  o'clock,  a  gentleman  called,  but  I  was  in  an  extremely  nerv- 
ous condition,  and  could  not  see  anyone.  I  had  refused  to  be 
disturbed,  and  had  shut  myself  up  in  my  bedroom  in  a  fright- 
fully depressed  state.  That  same  evening,  I  received  a  letter 
from  the  fire  insurance  company,  asking  me  which  day  their 
agent  might  call  to  have  the  agreement  signed.  I  replied  that 
he  might  come  on  Saturday.  On  Friday  I  was  so  utterly 
wretched  that  I  sent  to  ask  my  mother  to  come  and  lunch  with 
me.  I  was  not  playing  that  day,  as  I  never  used  to  play  on 
Tuesdays  and  Fridays,  the  days  we  went  through  our  repertory, 
for,  as  I  was  playing  every  other  day  in  new  pieces,  it  was 
feared  that  I  should  be  overtired. 

My  mother,  on  arriving,  thought  I  looked  very  pale. 
"  Yes,"    I   replied,    "  I   do   not   know   what   is  the   matter 
with    me,    but    I    am    in    a    very    nervous    state    and    most 
depressed. ' ' 

147 


MEMORIES    OI'    MV    LIFE 

TIk'  tiovcnioss  caiiic  to   fetch  my   little  hoy  to  tak<'  him  out 
Tor  Ji  walk,  but  I  would  not   let  him  ixa. 

"  Oh,  no!  "  I  exclaimed,  "  tin;  child  must  not  leave  me  to- 
day, I  am  afraid  of  somethiiifj  hapi)eniii<,'. " 

What  h;ii)i)ene(l  was  fortunately  of  a  less  serious  nature  than 
1,  with  my  love  for  my  family,  was  dreadiii«^. 

1  had  my  grandmother  livinp:  with  me  at  that  time,  and  she 
was  blind.  It  was  the  j^n-andmother  who  had  given  me  most 
of  my  furniture.  She  was  a  spectral-looking  woman,  and  Ihm- 
beauty  was  of  a  cold,  hard  type.  She  wa.s  fearfully  tall,  and 
she  looked  like  a  giantess.  She  was  thin,  and  very  upright, 
and  her  long  arms  were  always  stretched  in  front  of  her, 
feeling  for  all  the  objects  in  her  way,  so  that  she  might  not 
knock  herself,  although  she  was  always  accompanied  by  the 
attendant  whom  I  had  engaged  for  her.  Above  this  long  lady 
was  her  little  face,  with  two  inmiense,  pale  bine  eyes,  which 
w'ere  always  open,  even  when  asleep  through  the  night.  She  was 
generally  dressed  from  head  to  foot  in  gray,  and  this  neutral 
color  gave  something  unreal  to  her  general  appearance.  My 
mother,  after  trying  to  comfort  me,  went  away  about  two 
o'clock.  My  grandmother,  seated  opposite  me  in  her  large  Vol- 
taire armchair,  questioned  me: 

**  What  are  you  afraid  of  ?  "  she  asked.  "  "Why  are  3'ou 
so  mournful?     I  have  not  heard  you  laugh  all  day." 

I  did  not  answer,  but  looked  at  my  grandmother.  It  seemed 
to  me  that  the  trouble  I  was  dreading  would  come  through  her. 

"  Are  you  not  there?  "  she  persisted. 

"  Yes,  I  am  here,"  I  answered,  "  but  please  do  not  talk  to 
me." 

She  did  not  utter  another  word,  but,  with  her  two  hands  on 
her  lap,  sat  there  for  hours.  I  sketched  her  strange,  prophet- 
like face. 

It  began  to  grow  dusk,  and  I  thought  I  would  go  and 
dress,  after  being  present  at  the  meal  taken  by  my  grandmother 
and  the  child.  My  friend,  Kose  Baretta,  was  dining  with  me 
that  evening,  and  I  had  also  invited  a  most  charming  man,  who 
was  very  intelligent  and  distinguished.     His  name  was  Charles 

148 


IN    ¥UIK    AND    WAR 

Haas.  Arthur  ]\Ieyer  came,  too,  a  young  journalist  already 
very  much  in  vogue.  I  told  them  about  my  forebodings  with 
regard  to  that  day,  and  begged  them  not  to  leave  me  before 
midnight. 

"  After  that,"  I  said,  "  it  will  not  be  to-day,  and  the  wicked 
sprites  who  are  watching  me  will  have  missed  their  chance." 

They  agreed  to  humor  my  fancy,  and  Arthur  Meyer,  who 
ought  to  have  gone  to  some  first  night  at  one  of  the  theaters, 
gave  it  up.  Dinner  was  more  animated  than  luncheon  had  been, 
and  it  was  nine  o'clock  when  we  left  the  table.  Rose  Baretta 
sang  us  some  delightful  old  songs.  I  went  away  for  a  minute 
to  see  that  all  was  right  in  my  grandmother's  room.  I  found 
my  maid  with  her  head  wrapped  up  in  cloths  soaked  in  sedative 
water.  I  asked  what  was  the  matter,  and  she  said  that  she  had 
a  terrible  headache.  I  told  her  to  prepare  my  bath  and  every- 
thing for  me  for  the  night  and  then  to  go  to  bed.  She  thanked 
me  and  obeyed. 

I  went  back  to  the  drawing-room,  and  sitting  down  to  the 
piano,  played  "  II  Bacio,"  Mendelssohn's  "  Bells,"  and  Weber's 
"  Last  Thought."  I  had  not  come  to  the  end  of  this  last  mel- 
ody, when  I  stopped,  suddenly  hearing  cries  in  the  street  of 
"  Fire!     Fire!  " 

"  They  are  shouting  '  Fire!  '  "  exclaimed  Arthur  Meyer. 

"  That's  all  the  same  to  me,"  I  said,  shrugging  my  shoul- 
ders. ' '  It  is  not  midnight  yet  and  I  am  expecting  my  own  mis- 
fortune." 

Charles  Haas  had  opened  the  drawing-room  window  to  see 
where  the  shouts  were  coming  from.  He  stepped  out  on  the 
balcony,  and  then  came  quickly  in  again. 

"  The  fire  is  here!  "  he  exclaimed.     "  Look!  " 

I  rushed  to  the  window  and  saw  the  flames  coming  from 
the  two  windows  of  my  bedroom.  I  ran  back  through  the 
drawing-room  to  the  corridor  and  then  to  the  room  where  my 
child  was  sleeping  with  his  governess  and  his  nurse.  They  were 
all  fast  asleep.  Arthur  Meyer  opened  the  hall  door,  the  bell 
of  which  was  being  rung  violently.  I  roused  the  two  women 
quickly,  wrapped  the  sleeping  child  in  his  blankets,  and  rushed 

1-19 


Mi:.M()HIi:S    Ol'    MV     \AV\-] 

to  the  door  with  my  precious  burden.  I  tlieii  ran  downstairs 
and,  cros.sin<;  the  street,  took  liiiii  to  (juadacelii 's  chocolate  shop 
opposite,  just  at  the  corner  of  the  Rue  de  Caumartin.  The 
kind  man  took  my  little  slumberer  in,  let  him  lie  on  a  couch, 
where  the  child  continued  his  sleep  without  any  break.  I  left 
him  in  charfje  of  his  ^'overness  and  his  nurse,  and  went  quickly 
back  to  the  tlaminfj:  house. 

The  firemen,  who  had  been  sent  for,  had  not  yet  arrived, 
and  at  all  costs  I  was  determined  to  rescue  my  poor  grand- 
mother. It  was  impossible  to  ^o  back  up  the  principal  stair- 
case, as  it  was  filled  with  smoke.  Charles  Haas,  bareheaded 
and  in  evening  dress,  a  flower  still  in  his  buttonhole,  started 
with  me  up  the  narrow  back  staircase.  "We  were  soon  on  the 
first  floor,  but  when  once  there  my  knees  shook,  it  seemed  as 
though  my  heart  had  stopped,  and  I  was  seized  with  despair. 
The  kitchen  door,  at  the  top  of  the  first  flight  of  stairs,  was 
locked  with  a  triple  turn  of  the  key.  ]\Iy  willing  companion 
was  tall,  slight,  and  elegant,  but  not  strong.  I  besought  him 
to  go  down  and  fetch  a  hammer,  a  hatchet,  or  something,  but 
just  at  that  moment  a  newcomer  wrenched  the  door  open  by 
a  violent  plunge  with  his  shoulder  against  it. 

This  new  arrival  was  no  other  than  M.  Sohege,  a  friend  of 
mine.  He  was  a  most  charming  and  excellent  man,  a  broad- 
shouldered  Alsatian,  well  known  in  Paris,  very  lively  and  kind, 
and  always  ready  to  do  anyone  a  service.  I  took  my  friends 
to  my  grandmother's  room.  She  was  sitting  up  in  bed,  out  of 
breath  with  calling  Catherine,  the  servant  who  waited  upon 
her.  This  maid  was  about  twenty -five  years  of  age,  a  big, 
strapping  girl  from  Burgundy,  and  she  was  now  sleeping  peace- 
fully, in  spite  of  the  uproar  in  the  street,  the  noise  of  the  fire 
engines,  which  had  arrived  at  last,  and  the  wild  shrieks  of 
the  occupants  of  the  house.  Sohege  shook  the  maid,  while  I 
explained  to  my  grandmother  the  reason  of  the  tumult  and 
why  we  were  in  her  room. 

* '  Very  good, ' '  she  said ;  and  then  she  added,  calmly,  ' '  will 
you  give  me  the  box,  Sarah,  that  you  will  find  at  the  bottom 
of  the  wardrobe?     The  key  of  it  is  here." 

150 


IN    FIRE    AND    WAR 

"  But,  grandmother, "  I  exclaimed,*'  the  smoke  is  beginning 
to  come  in  here.     We  have  not  any  time  to  lose." 

' '  Well,  do  as  you  like,  I  shall  not  leave  without  my  box !  ' ' 

With  the  help  of  Charles  Haas  and  of  Arthur  Meyer,  we  put 
my  grandmother  on  Sohege's  back,  in  spite  of  herself.  He  was 
of  medium  height,  and  she  w^as  extremely  tall,  so  that  her  long 
legs  touched  the  ground,  and  I  was  afraid  she  might  get  them 
injured.  Sohege,  therefore,  took  her  in  his  arms,  and  Charles 
Haas  carried  her  legs.  We  then  set  off,  but  the  smoke  stifled 
us,  and  after  descending  about  ten  stairs  I  fell  down  in  a  faint. 

When  I  came  to  myself,  I  was  in  my  mother's  bed.  My 
little  boy  was  asleep  in  my  sister's  room,  and  my  grandmother 
was  installed  in  a  large  armchair.  She  sat  bolt  upright,  frown- 
ing, and  with  an  angry  expression  on  her  lips.  She  did  not 
trouble  about  anything  but  her  box,  until  at  last  my  mother  Avas 
angry,  and  reproached  her  severely  in  Dutch  w^ith  only  caring 
for  herself.  She  answered  excitedly,  and  her  neck  craned  for- 
ward, as  though  to  help  her  head  to  peer  through  the  perpetual 
darkness  which  surrounded  her.  Her  thin  body  wrapped  in 
an  Indian  shawl  of  many  colors,  the  hissing  of  her  strident 
words,  which  flowed  freely,  all  contributed  to  make  her  resem- 
ble a  serpent  in  some  terrible  nightmare.  My  mother  did  not 
like  this  woman,  who  had  married  my  grandfather  when  he 
had  six  big  children,  the  eldest  of  whom  was  sixteen  and  the 
youngest,  my  uncle,  five  j^ears.  This  second  wife  had  never 
had  any  children  of  her  own,  and  she  had  been  indifferent  and 
even  hard  toward  those  of  her  husband,  and  consequently  she 
was  not  liked  in  the  family.  I  had  taken  her  in  because  small- 
pox had  broken  out  in  the  family  with  whom  she  had  been 
boarding.  She  had  then  wished  to  stay  with  me,  and  I  had 
not  had  courage  enough  to  oppose  her.  On  the  occasion  of  the 
fire,  though,  I  considered  she  behaved  so  badly  that  a  strong 
dislike  to  her  came  over  me,  and  I  resolved  not  to  have  her  any 
longer  in  my  house. 

News  of  the  fire  was  brought  to  us.  It  continued  to  rage, 
and  burned  everything  in  my  flat,  absolutely  everything,  even 
to  the  very  last  book  in  my  library.     Mv  orreatest  trouble  wag 

15: 


MEMOKIKS    OF    ^I^     LIFE 

th;it  I  lost  a  nia<;niliciiit  portrait  of  my  (iiotlicr  by  Bas- 
sompierre  Sovorin,  a  pastolist  very  much  in  vogue;  under  the 
p]nipire;  an  oil  portrait  of  my  father,  and  a  very  pretty  pastel 
of  my  sister  Jeanne.  I  had  not  mueh  jewelry,  and  all  that  was 
found  of  the  bracelet  given  to  me  by  the  Emperor  was  a  huge 
shapeless  mass  which  I  still  have.  I  had  a  very  pretty  diadem, 
set  with  diamonds  and  pearls,  given  to  me  by  Kabil  Bey,  after 
a  performance  at  his  house.  The  ashes  of  this  had  to  be  rid- 
dled in  order  to  find  the  stones.  The  diamonds  were  there, 
but  the  pearls  had  melted. 

I  was  absolutely  ruined,  for  the  money  that  my  father  and 
his  mother  had  left  me  I  had  spent  in  furniture,  curiasities, 
and  a  hundred  other  useless  things,  which  were  tlie  delight  of 
my  life.  I  had,  too,  and  I  own  it  was  absurd,  a  tortoise  named 
Chrysagere.  Its  back  was  covered  with  a  shell  of  gold,  set  with 
very  small  blue,  pink,  and  yellow  topazes.  Oh,  how  beautiful 
it  was  and  how  droll !  It  used  to  wander  round  my  flat,  accom- 
panied by  a  small  tortoise  named  Zerbinette,  which  was  its  serv- 
ant, and  I  amused  myself  for  hours  watching  Chrysagere,  flash- 
ing with  a  hundred  lights  under  the  rays  of  the  sun  or  the 
moon.    Both  my  tortoises  died  in  this  fire. 

Duquesnel,  who  w^as  very  kind  to  me  at  that  time,  came  to 
see  me  a  few  weeks  later,  for  he  had  just  received  a  summons 
from  the  fire  insurance  company,  whose  papers  I  had  refused 
to  sign  the  day  before  the  catastrophe.  The  company  claimed  a 
heavy  sum  from  me  for  damages  to  the  other  tenants  of  the  house. 
The  second  story  was  almost  entirely  destroyed,  and  for  many 
months  the  whole  building  had  to  be  propped  up.  I  did  not  pos- 
sess the  forty  thousand  francs  claimed.  Duquesnel  off'ered  to 
give  a  benefit  performance  for  me,  which  would,  he  said,  free 
me  from  my  difficulty.  De  Chilly  was  very  willing  to  agree 
to  anything  that  would  be  of  service  to  me.  This  benefit  was 
a  wonderful  success,  thanlcs  to  the  presence  of  the  adorable 
Adelina  Patti.  The  young  singer,  who  was  then  the  ]\Iarquise 
de  Caux,  had  never  before  sung  at  a  benefit  performance,  and 
it  was  Arthur  Meyer  who  brought  me  the  news  that  "  La  Patti  " 
was  going  to  sing  for  me.    Her  husband  came  during  the  after- 

152 


IN    FIRE    AND    WAR 

noon,  to  tell  me  how  glad  she  was  of  this  opportunity  of  prov- 
ing to  me  her  sympathy.  As  soon  as  the  "  fairy  bird  "  was 
announced,  every  seat  in  the  house  was  promptly  taken,  at  prices 
which  were  higher  than  those  originally  fixed.  She  had  no 
reason  to  regret  her  friendly  action,  for  never  was  any  triumph 
more  complete.  The  students  greeted  her  with  three  cheers 
as  she  came  on  the  stage.  She  was  a  little  surprised  at  this  noise 
of  bravos  in  rhythm.  I  can  see  her  now  coming  forward,  her 
two  little  feet  incased  in  pink  satin.  She  was  like  a  bird  hesi- 
tating as  to  whether  it  would  fly  or  remain  on  the  ground.  She 
looked  so  pretty,  so  smiling,  and  when  she  trilled  out  the  gem- 
like notes  of  her  wonderful  voice  the  whole  house  was  delirious 
with  excitement.  Everyone  sprang  up  and  the  students  stood 
on  their  seats,  waved  their  hats  and  handkerchiefs,  nodded  their 
young  heads,  in  their  feverish  enthusiasm  for  art,  and  encored 
with  intonations  of  the  most  touching  supplication.  The  divine 
singer  then  began  again,  and  three  times  over  she  had  to  sing 
the  cavatina  from  the  "  Barber  of  Seville,"  Una  voce  poco  fa. 

I  thanked  her  affectionately  afterwards,  and  she  left  the 
theater  escorted  by  the  students,  who  followed  her  carriage 
for  a  long  way,  shouting  over  and  over  again:  "Long  live 
Adelina  Patti !  ' '  Thanks  to  that  evening 's  performance  I  was 
able  to  pay  the  insurance  company.  I  was  ruined  all  the  same, 
or  very  nearly  so. 

I  stayed  a  few  days  with  my  mother,  but  we  were  so  cramped 
for  room  there  that  I  took  a  furnished  flat  in  the  Rue  de  1  'Arcade. 
It  was  a  wretched  house  and  the  flat  was  dark.  I  was  wonder- 
ing how  I  should  get  out  of  my  difficulties,  when  one  morning 

M.  C ,  my  father's  notary,  was  announced.     This  was  the 

man  I  disliked  so  much,  but  I  gave  orders  that  he  should  be  shown 
in.  I  was  surprised  that  I  had  not  seen  him  for  so  long  a  time. 
He  told  me  that  he  had  just  returned  from  Hombourg,  that  he 
had  seen  in  the  newspaper  an  account  of  my  misfortune,  and 
had  now  come  to  put  himself  at  my  service.  In  spite  of  my 
distrust,  I  was  touched  by  this,  and  I  related  to  him  the  whole 
drama  of  my  fire.  I  did  not  know  how  it  had  started,  but  I 
vaguely  suspected  my   maid  Josephine  of   having   placed   my 

153 


MEMORIES    OF    MV     MFE 

lighted  candle  on  the  little  table  to  the  left  of  the  head  of  my 
bed.  I  had  frequently  warned  her  not  to  do  this,  but  it  was 
on  this  little  piece  of  furniture  that  she  always  placed  my  water 
bottle  and  glass,  and  a  dessert  dish  with  a  couple  of  raw  apples, 
for  I  like  eating  apples  when  I  wake  in  the  night.  On  oix-ning 
the  door  there  was  always  a  terrible  draught,  as  the  windows 
were  left  open  until  I  went  to  bed.  On  closing  the  door  after 
her  the  lace  bed  curtains  had  probably  caught  fire.  I  could  iK't 
explain  the  catastrophe  in  any  other  way.  I  had  several  times 
seen  the  young  servant  do  this  stupid  thing,  and  I  supposed 
that  on  the  night  in  question  she  had  been  in  a  hurry  to  go  to 
be'd  on  account  of  her  bad  headache.  As  a  rule,  when  I  was 
going  to  undress  myself,  she  prepared  everything  and  then 
came  in  and  told  me,  but  this  time  she  had  not  done  so.  As 
a  rule,  too,  I  just  went  into  the  room  myself  to  see  that  every- 
thing was  right,  and  several  times  I  had  been  obliged  to  move 
the  candle.  That  day,  however,  was  destined  to  bring  me  mis- 
fortune of  some  kind,  though  it  was  not  a  very  great  one. 
"  But,"  said  the  notary,  "  you  were  not  insured,  then?  " 
**  No,  I  was  to  sign  my  policy  the  day  after  the  event." 
"  Ah,"  exclaimed  the  man  of  law;  "  and  to  think  that  I 
have  been  told  you  set  the  flat  on  fire  yourself,  for  the  sake  of 
picking  up  a  large  sum  for  damagas!  " 

I  shrugged  my  shoulders,  for  I  had  seen  insinuations  to  this 
effect  in  a  newspaper.  I  was  very  young  at  this  time,  but  I 
already  had  a  certain  disdain  for  tittle-tattle. 

"  Oh,  well,  I  must  arrange  matters  for  you,  if  things  are 

like  this,"  said  Maitre  C .    "  You  are  really  better  off  than 

you  imagine  as  regards  the  money  on  your  father's  side,"  he 
continued.  "  As  your  grandmother  leaves  you  an  annuity, 
you  can  get  a  good  amount  for  this  by  agreeing  to  insure  your 
life  for  250,000  francs  for  forty  years,  for  the  benefit  of  the 
purchaser."  I  agreed  to  ever\i:hing,  and  was  only  too  de- 
lighted at  such  a  windfall.  This  man  promised  to  send  me, 
two  days  after  his  return,  120.000  francs,  and  he  kept  his 
word. 

My  reason  for  giving  the  details  of  this  little  episode,  which 

154 


IN    FIRE    AND    WAR 

after  all  belongs  to  my  life,  is  to  show  how  differently  things 
turn  out  from  what  seems  likely,  according  to  logic  or  according 
to  our  own  expectations.  It  is  quite  certain  that  the  accident, 
which  just  then  happened  to  me,  scattered  to  the  winds  the  hopes 
and  plans  of  my  life.  I  had  arranged  for  myself  a  luxurious 
home  with  the  money  that  my  father  and  his  mother  had  left 
me.  I  had  reserved  and  placed  out  the  amount  necessary  to 
complete  my  monthly  salary  for  the  next  two  years,  and  I  was 
reckoning  that  at  the  end  of  the  two  years  I  should  be  in  a 
position  to  demand  a  very  large  salary.  And  all  these  arrange- 
ments had  been  upset  by  the  carelessness  of  a  domestic.  I  had 
rich  relatives  and  very  rich  friends,  but  not  one  among  them 
stretched  out  a  hand  to  help  me  out  of  the  ditch  into  which  I 
had  fallen.  My  rich  relatives  had  not  forgiven  me  for  going 
on  to  the  stage.  And  yet,  Heaven  knows  what  tears  it  had  cost 
me  to  take  up  this  career  that  had  been  forced  upon  me !  j\Iy 
Uncle  Faure  came  to  see  me  at  my  mother's  house,  but  my  aunt 
would  not  listen  to  a  word  about  me.  I  used  to  see  my  cousin 
secretly,  and  sometimes  his  pretty  sister.  My  rich  friends  con- 
sidered that  I  was  wildly  extravagant,  and  could  not  under- 
stand why  I  did  not  place  the  money  I  had  inherited  in  good, 
sound  investments. 

I  received  a  great  deal  of  poetry  on  the  subject  of  my  fire. 
]\Iost  of  the  pieces  were  anonymous ;  I  have  kept  them,  however, 
and  I  quote  the  following  one,  which  is  rather  nice: 

Passant,  te  voila  sans  abri: 

La  flamme  a  ravage  ton  gite. 

Hier  plus  leger  qu'un  colibri ; 

Ton  esprit  aujourd'hui  s'agite, 

S'exhalant  en  gemissements 

Sur  tout  ce  que  le  feu  d^vore. 

Tu  pleures  tes  beaux  diamants?  .  .  . 

Non,  tes  grands  yeux  les  ont  encore ! 

Ne  regrette  pas  ces  colliers ; 
Qu'on  a  leur  cou  les  riches  dames! 
Tu  trouveras  dans  les  halliers, 
Des  tissus  verts,  aux  fines  trames ! 
155 


Ta  prrle?  .  .   .   Mais,  c'cst  Ic  jais  nuir 
Qui  8ur  Tcnvcrs  du  fossdpoussc ! 
Et  le  cadre  de  ton  miroir 
Est  unc  bordurc  dc  mousse  1 

Tcs  l)racclet,s?  .  .   .  Mais,  tes  bras  nus: 
Tu  paraitras  cent  fois  plus  belle! 
Sur  les  bras  polls  dc  Venus, 
Aucun  cercle  d'or  n'6tincelle! 
Garde  ton  charme  si  puissant! 
Ton  parfum  de  plante  sauvage! 
Laisse  les  bijoux,  0  Passant, 
A  celles  que  le  temps  ravage ! 

Avec  ta  guitare  d  ton  cou, 
Va,  par  la  France  et  par  I'Espagne! 
Suis  ton  chemin ;   je  ne  sais  oti.  .  .  . 
Par  la  plaine  et  par  la  montagne ! 
Passe,  comme  la  plume  au  vent! 
Comme  le  son  de  ta  mandore ! 
Comme  un  flot  qui  baise  en  revant 
Les  flancs  d'une  barque  sonore ! 

The  proprietor  of  one  of  the  hotels  now  very  much  in  vogue 
sent  me  the  following  letter,  which  I  quote  word  for  word : 

Madame  :  If  j'ou  would  consent  to  dine  every  evening  for  a  month  in 
our  large  dining-room,  I  would  place  at  your  service  a  suite  of  rooms  on  the 
first  floor,  consisting  of  two  bedrooms,  a  large  drawing-room,  a  small  bou- 
doir and  a  bath  room.  It  is  of  course,  understood  that  this  suite  of  rooms 
would  be  yours  free  of  charge  if  you  would  consent  to  do  as  I  ask. 

Yours  truly,  etc.   .  .  . 

P.  S. — You  would  only  have  to  pay  for  the  fresh  supplies  of  plants  for 
your  drawing-room. 

This  wa.s  the  extent  of  the  man's  coarseness.  I  asked  one 
of  my  friends  to  go  and  give  the  low  fellow  his  answer. 

I  was  in  despair,  though,  for  I  felt  that  I  could  not  live  Avith- 
out  comfort  and  luxury. 

I  soon  made  up  my  mind  as  to  what  I  must  do,  but  not  with- 

156 


IN    FIRE    AND    WAR 

out  great  sorrow.  I  had  been  offered  a  magnificent  engage- 
ment in  Russia,  and  I  should  have  to  accept  it.  Mme.  Guerard 
was  my  sole  confidant,  and  I  did  not  mention  my  plan  to  any- 
one else.  The  idea  of  Russia  terrified  her,  for  at  that  time  my 
chest  was  very  delicate  and  cold  was  my  most  cruel  enemy. 
It  was  just  as  I  had  made  up  my  mind  to  this  that  the  lawyer 
arrived.  His  avaricious  and  crafty  mind  had  schemed  out  the 
clever  and,  for  him,  profitable  combination,  which  was  to  change 
my  whole  life  once  more. 

I  took  a  pretty  flat  on  the  first  floor  of  a  house  in  the  Rue 
de  Rome.  It  was  very  simny,  and  that  delighted  me  more  than 
anything  else.  There  were  two  drawing-rooms  and  a  large  din- 
ing room.  I  arranged  for  my  grandmother  to  live  at  a  home 
kept  by  lay  Sisters  and  nuns.  She  was  a  Jewess,  and  carried 
out  very  strictly  all  the  laws  laid  down  by  her  religion.  The 
house  was  very  comfortable,  and  my  grandmother  took  with 
her  her  own  maid,  the  young  girl  from  Burgundy,  to  whom 
she  was  accustomed.  When  I  went  to  see  her  she  told  me  that 
she  was  much  better  off  there  than  with  me.  ' '  When  I  was  with 
you,"  she  said,  *'  I  found  your  boy  too  noisy."  I  very  rarely 
went  to  visit  her  there,  for  after  seeing  my  mother  turn  pale 
at  her  unkind  words  I  never  cared  any  more  for  her.  She  was 
happy,  and  that  was  the  essential  thing. 

I  now  played  in  "  Le  Batard, ' '  in  which  I  had  great  success ; 
in  "  L'Affranchi,"  in  "  L 'Autre,"  by  George  Sand,  and  in 
"  Jean-Marie,"  a  little  masterpiece  by  Andre  Theuriet,  which 
had  the  most  brilliant  success.  Porel  played  the  part  of  Jean- 
Marie.  He  was  at  that  time  slender,  and  full  of  hope  as  re- 
garded his  future.  Since  then  his  slenderness  has  developed 
into  plumpness  and  his  hope  into  certitude. 

Evil  days  then  came  upon  us!  Paris  began  to  get  feverish 
and  excited.  The  streets  were  black  with  groups  of  people,  dis- 
cussing and  gesticulating.  And  all  this  noise  was  only  the  echo 
of  far-distant  groups  gathered  together  in  German  streets. 
These  other  groups  were  yelling,  gesticulating,  and  discussing, 
but — ^they  knew;  while  we — did  not  know! 

157 


MEMORIES    OF    MY    LIFE 

I  could  not  U<'<'|)  cjilrii,  but  was  extremely  excited,  until 
fuudly  I  was  ill.  War  was  declared,  and  I  hate  war!  It  exa-s- 
j)erates  me  and  makes  me  shudder  from  head  to  foot.  At  times 
I  used  to  spring;  up  terrified,  upset  by  the  distant  cries  of 
human  voices. 

Oh, -war!  What  infamy,  shame,  and  sorrow!  War!  What 
theft  and  crime,  abetted,  forgiven,  and  glorified! 

On  the  19th  of  July,  war  was  seriously  declared  and  Paris 
then  became  the  theater  of  the  most  touching  and  burlescpie 
scenes.  Excitable  and  delicate  as  I  was,  I  could  not  bear  the 
sight  of  all  these  young  men  gone  wild,  who  were  yelling  the 
"  Marseillaise,"  and  rushing  along  the  streets  in  close  file,  shout- 
ing over  and  over  again;  "  To  Berlin!     To  Berlin!  " 

My  heart  used  to  beat  wildly  for  I,  too,  thought  that  they 
were  going  to  Berlin,  I  understood  the  fury  they  felt,  for  these 
people  had  provoked  us  without  plausible  reasons,  but  at  the  same 
time  it  seemed  to  me  that  they  were  getting  ready  for  this  great 
occasion  without  sufficient  respect  and  dignity.  My  own  im- 
potence made  me  feel  rebellious,  and  when  I  saw  all  the  mothers, 
with  pale  faces  and  eyes  swollen  with  crying,  holding  their  boys 
in  their  arms  and  kissing  them  in  despair,  the  most  frightful 
anguish  seemed  to  choke  me.  I  cried,  too,  almost  unceasingly, 
and  I  was  wearing  myself  away  with  anxiety,  but  I  did  not  fore- 
see the  horrible  catastrophe  that  was  to  take  place. 

The  doctors  decided  that  I  must  go  to  Eaux-Bonnes.  I  did 
not  want  to  leave  Paris,  for  I  had  caught  the  general  fever  of 
excitement.  My  weakness  increased  though,  day  by  day,  and  on 
the  27th  day  of  July  I  was  taken  away  in  spite  of  myself.  Mme. 
Guerard,  my  manservant,  and  my  maid  accompanied  me,  and  I 
also  took  my  child  with  me. 

At  the  stations  there  were  posters  everywhere,  announcing 
that  the  Emperor  Napoleon  had  gone  to  Metz  to  take  command 
of  the  army. 

On  arriving  at  Eaux-Bonnes,  I  was  obliged  to  go  to  bed.  My 
condition  Avas  considered  very  serious  by  Dr.  Langlet.  who  told 
me  afterwards  that  he  certainly  thought  I  was  going  to  die.  I 
vomited  blood  and  had  to  have  a  piece  of  ice  in  my  mouth  all  the 

158 


IN    FIRE    AND    WAR 

time.  At  the  end  of  about  twelve  days,  however,  I  began  to  get 
up,  and  after  this  I  soon  recovered  my  strength  and  my  eahnness, 
and  went  for  long  rides. 

The  war  news  led  us  to  hope  for  victory.  There  was  great 
joy  and  a  certain  emotion  felt  by  everyone  on  hearing  that  the 
young  Prince  Imperial  had  received  his  baptism  of  fire  at  Saar- 
bruek,  in  the  engagement  commanded  by  General  Frossard. 

Life  seemed  to  me  beautiful  again,  for  I  had  great  confidence 
in  the  issue  of  the  war.  I  pitied  the  Germans  for  having  em- 
barked on  such  an  adventure.  But,  alas !  the  glorious  progress 
which  my  brain  had  been  so  active  in  imagining  was  cut  short 
by  the  atrocious  news  from  St.  Privat.  The  political  news 
was  posted  up  every  day  in  the  little  garden  of  the  Casino  at 
Eaux-Bonnes.  The  public  went  there  to  get  information.  De- 
testing tranquillity,  as  I  did,  I  used  to  send  my  manservant  to 
copy  the  telegrams.  Oh,  how  grievous  it  was,  that  terrible  tele- 
gram from  St.  Privat,  informing  us  laconically  of  the  frightful 
butchery,  of  Marshal  Canrobert's  heroic  defense,  and  of  Ba- 
zaine's  first  treachery  in  not  going  to  the  rescue  of  his  comrades. 

I  knew  Canrobert  and  liked  him  immensely.  Later  on  he 
was  one  of  my  faithful  friends,  and  I  shall  always  remember  the 
exquisite  hours  spent  in  listening  to  his  accounts  of  the  bravery 
of  others — never  of  his  own.  And  what  an  abundance  of  an- 
ecdotes, what  wit,  what  charm ! 

This  news  of  the  battle  of  St.  Privat  caused  my  feverishness 
to  return.  My  sleep  was  full  of  nightmares  and  I  had  a  relapse. 
The  news  was  worse  every  day.  After  St.  Privat  came  Grave- 
lotte  where  36,000  men,  French  and  German,  were  cut  down  in 
a  few  hours.  Then  came  the  sublime  but  powerless  efforts  of 
MacMahon,  who  was  repulsed  as  far  as  Sedan,  and  finally  Sedan  ! 

Sedan  !  Ah,  the  horrible  awakening !  The  month  of  August 
had  finished  the  night  before  amid  a  tumult  of  weapons  and 
dying  groans.  But  the  groans  of  the  dying  men  were  mingled 
still  with  hopeful  cries.  The  month  of  September,  though,  was 
cursed  from  its  very  birth.  Its  first  war  cry  was  stifled  back  by 
the  brutal  and  cowardly  hand  of  Destiny. 

A  hundred  thousand  men !     A  hundred  thousand  French- 

159 


MEMORIES    OF    MV     LIFE 

men  luul  to  capitulate,  and  the  Emperor  of  France  had  to  hand 
his  sword  over  to  the  Kin^  of  Prussia! 

Ah,  tliat  cry  of  grief,  that  cry  of  rage  uttered  by  the  whole 
nation  !     It  can  never  be  forgotten ! 

On  the  first  of  September  toward  ten  o'clock  Claude,  my 
manservant,  knocked  at  my  door.  I  was  not  asleep,  and  he  gave 
me  his  copy  of  the  first  telegrams:  "  Battle  of  Sedan  com- 
menced. .  .  .  MacMahon  wounded  .  .  .  etc.,  etc. "  "  Ah,  go  back 
again!  "  I  said,  "  and  as  soon  as  a  fresh  telegram  comes,  bring 
me  the  news.  I  feel  that  something  unheard  of,  something  great 
— and  quite  different — is  going  to  happen.  We  have  suffered  so 
terribly  this  last  month  tliat  there  can  only  be  something  good 
now,  something  fine ;  for  God 's  scales  mete  out  joy  and  suffering 
equally.  Go  at  once,  Claude,"  I  added,  and  then  full  of  con- 
fidence, I  soon  fell  asleep  again,  and  was  so  tired  that  I  slept 
until  one  o'clock.  When  I  awoke,  my  maid  Elicie,  the  most 
delightful  girl  imaginable,  was  seated  near  my  bed.  Her  pretty 
face  and  her  large,  dark  eyes  were  so  mournful  that  my  heart 
stopped  beating.  I  gazed  at  her  anxiously,  and  she  put  into  my 
hands  the  copy  of  the  last  telegram :  ' '  The  Emperor  Napoleon 
has  just  handed  over  his  sword  ..." 

The  blood  rushed  to  my  head,  and  my  lungs  were  too  weak  to 
control  it.  I  lay  back  on  my  pillow,  and  the  blood  escaped 
through  my  lips  with  the  groans  of  my  w^hole  being. 

For  three  days  I  was  between  life  and  death.  Dr.  Langlet 
sent  for  one  of  my  father's  friends,  a  shipow^ner  named  j\I.  Man- 
noir.  He  came  at  once,  bringing  with  him  his  young  wife.  She, 
too,  was  very  ill,  worse  in  reality  than  I  was,  in  spite  of  her  fresh 
look,  for  she  died  six  months  later.  Thanks  to  their  care  and  to 
the  energetic  treatment  of  Dr.  Langlet  I  came  through  alive  from 
this  attack. 

I  decided  to  return  at  once  to  Paris,  as  the  siege  was  about 
to  be  proclaimed  and  I  did  not  want  my  mother  and  my  sisters 
to  remain  in  the  capital.  Independently  of  this,  everyone  at 
Eaux-Bonnes  was  seized  with  a  desire  to  get  away,  invalids  and 
tourists  alike.  A  post  chaise  was  found,  the  owner  of  which 
agreed,  for  an  exorbitant  price,  to  take  me  to  the  next  train  that 

160 


IN    FIRE    AND    WAR 

came.  When  once  in  it,  we  were  more  or  less  comfortably  seated 
as  far  as  Bordeaux,  but  it  was  impossible  to  find  five  seats  in  the 
express  from  there.  My  manservant  was  allowed  to  travel  with 
the  engine  driver.  I  do  not  know  where  Mme.  Guerard  and  my 
maid  found  room,  but  in  the  compartment  I  entered,  with  my 
little  boy,  there  were  already  nine  persons.  An  ug^ly  old  man 
tried  to  push  my  child  back  when  I  had  put  him  in,  but  I  pushed 
him  again  energetically  in  my  turn. 

"  No  human  force  will  make  us  get  out  of  this  carriage 
again, ' '  I  said ;  "  do  you  hear  that,  you  ugly  old  man  ?  We  are 
here  and  we  shall  stay." 

A  stout  lady,  who  took  up  more  room  herself  than  three 
ordinary  persons,  exclaimed : 

"  Well,  that  is  lively,  for  we  are  suffocated  already.  It's 
shameful  to  let  eleven  persons  get  into  a  compartment  where 
there  are  only  seats  for  eight !  ' ' 

"  Will  you  get  out,  then?  "  I  retorted,  turning  to  her 
quickly,  ' '  for  without  you  there  would  only  be  seven  of  us. ' ' 

The  stifled  laughter  of  the  other  travelers  showed  me  that  I 
had  won  over  my  audience.  Three  young  men  offered  me  their 
places,  but  I  refused,  declaring  that  I  was  going  to  stand.  The 
three  young  men  had  risen  and  they  declared  that  they  would 
also  stand,  then.  The  stout  lady  called  a  railway  official. 
"  Come  here,  please,"  she  began.  The  official  stopped  an  in- 
stant at  the  door. 

"It  is  perfectly  shameful,"  she  went  on.  "  There  are 
eleven  in  this  compartment,  and  it  is  impossible  to  move." 

"  Don't  you  believe  it,"  exclaimed  one  of  the  young  men. 
' '  Just  look  for  yourself ;  we  are  standing  up  and  there  are  three 
seats  empty;  send  us  some  more  people  in  here !  " 

The  official  went  away  laughing  and  muttering  something 
about  the  woman  who  had  complained.  She  turned  to  the 
young  man  and  began  to  talk  abusively  to  him.  He  bowed  very 
respectfully  in  reply,  and  said : 

' '  Madame,  if  you  will  calm  down  you  shall  be  satisfied.     We 
will  seat  seven  on  the  other  side,  including  the  child,  and  then 
you  will  only  be  four  on  your  side. ' ' 
12  161 


Mi:.M()RIKS    OF    MY    TJFE 

'llie  ugly  old  man  was  short  and  slight.  He  looked  sideways 
at  the  stout  lady  and  iminiiured  :  "  Four!  four!  "  His  look 
and  tone  showed  that  he  eonsidered  the  stout  lady  took  up  more 
than  one  seat.  This  look  and  tone  were  not  lost  on  the  young 
man,  and  before  the  ugly  old  man  had  comprehended  he  said  to 
him:  "  Will  you  come  over  here,  and  have  this  corner?  All 
the  thin  people  will  be  together,  then,"  he  added,  inviting  a 
placid,  calm-looking  young  Englishman  of  about  eighteen  to 
twenty  years  of  age  to  take  the  old  man's  seat.  The  English- 
man had  the  body  of  a  prize  fighter  with  a  face  like  that  of  a  fair- 
haired  baby.  A  very  young  woman,  opposite  the  stout  one, 
laughed  till  the  tears  came.  All  six  of  us  then  found  room  on 
the  thin  people's  side  of  the  carriage.  We  were  a  little  crushed, 
but  had  been  considerably  enlivened  by  this  little  entertainment, 
and  we  certainly  needed  something  to  enliven  us.  The  young 
man  who  had  taken  the  matter  in  hand  in  such  a  witty  way,  was 
tall  and  nice-looking.  He  had  blue  eyes,  and  his  hair  was  almost 
white,  and  this  gave  to  his  face  a  most  attractive  freshness  and 
youthfulness.  My  boy  was  on  his  knee  during  the  night.  With 
the  exception  of  the  child,  the  stout  lady,  and  the  young  English- 
man, no  one  went  to  sleep.  The  heat  was  overpowering,  and  the 
war  was  of  course  discussed.  After  some  hesitation,  one  of  the 
young  men  told  me  that  I  resembled  Mile.  Sarah  Bernhardt.  I 
answered  that  there  w^as  every  reason  w^hy  I  should  resemble  her. 
The  young  men  then  introduced  themselves.  The  one  who  had 
recognized  me  w^as  Albert  Delpit,  the  second  w^as  a  Dutchman, 
Baron  von  Zelern  or  Yon  Zelen,  I  do  not  remember  exactly 
which,  and  the  j^oung  man  with  the  white  hair  was  Felix  Faure. 
He  told  me  that  he  was  from  Havre,  and  that  he  knew  my  grand- 
mother very  well.  I  kept  up  a  certain  friendship  with  these 
three  men  afterwards,  but  later  on  Albert  Delpit  became  my 
enemy.  All  three  are  now  dead;  Albert  Delpit  died  a  dis- 
appointed man,  for  he  had  tried  everything,  and  succeeded  in 
nothing;  the  Dutch  baron  died  in  a  railway  accident,  and  Felix 
Faure  as  President  of  the  French  Republic. 

The  young  woman,  on  hearing  my  name,  introduced  herself 
in  her  turn : 

162 


IN    FIRE    AND    WAR 

"  I  think  we  are  slightly  related,"  she  said.  "  I  am  Mme. 
Laroque.  ..." 

"  Of  Bordeaux?  "  I  asked. 

"Yes." 

My  mother's  brother  had  married  a  Mile.  Laroque  of  Bor- 
deaux, so  that  we  were  able  to  talk  of  our  family.  Altogether 
the  journey  did  not  seem  very  long,  in  spite  of  the  heat,  the  over- 
crowding, and  our  thirst. 

The  arrival  in  Paris  was  more  gloomy.  We  shook  hands 
warmly  with  each  other.  The  stout  lady's  husband  was  await- 
ing her  with  a  telegram  in  his  hand.  The  unfortunate  woman 
read  it,  and  then,  uttering  a  cry,  burst  into  sobs  and  fell  into  his 
arms.  I  gazed  at  her,  wondering  what  sorrow  had  come  upon 
her.  Poor  woman,  I  could  no  longer  see  anything  ridiculous 
about  her !  I  felt  a  pang  of  remorse  at  the  thought  that  we  had 
been  laughing  at  her  so  much,  when  misfortune  had  already 
singled  her  out. 

On  reaching  home  I  sent  word  to  my  mother  that  I  should 
be  with  her  sometime  during  the  day.  She  came  at  once,  as  she 
wanted  to  know  how  my  health  was.  We  then  arranged  about 
the  departure  of  the  whole  family,  with  the  exception  of  myself, 
as  I  wanted  to  stay  in  Paris  during  the  siege.  My  mother,  my 
little  boy,  and  his  nurse,  my  sisters,  my  Aunt  Annette,  who  kept 
house  for  me,  and  my  mother's  maid,  were  all  ready  to  start  two 
days  later.  I  had  taken  rooms  at  Frascati's,  at  Havre,  for  the 
whole  tribe.  But  the  desire  to  leave  Paris  was  one  thing,  and 
the  possibility  of  doing  so,  another.  The  stations  were  invaded 
by  families  like  mine,  who  thought  it  more  prudent  to  emigrate. 
I  sent  my  manservant  to  engage  a  compartment,  and  he  came 
back  three  hours  later  with  his  clothes  torn,  after  receiving 
various  kicks  and  blows. 

"  Madame  cannot  go  into  that  crowd,"  he  assured  me.  "  It 
is  quite  impossible.  I  should  not  be  able  to  protect  her.  And 
then,  too,  madame  will  not  be  alone;  there  is  madame's  mother, 
the  other  ladies,  and  the  children.  It  is  really  quite  im- 
possible." 

I  sent  at  once  for  three  of  my  friends,  explained  my  difficulty, 

163 


MEMORIES    OF    MY    LIFE 

and  asked  them  to  accompany  inc  I  lold  my  hutlor  to  be  ready, 
as  well  as  my  other  manservant,  and  my  mother's  footman.  Tie, 
in  his  turn,  invited  his  yonn<;<T  brother,  who  was  a  priest  and 
who  was  very  willing  to  go  with  us.  We  all  set  off  in  a  railway 
omnibus.  There  were  seventeen  of  us  in  all,  and  only  nine  who 
were  really  traveling.  Our  eight  protectors  were  not  too  many, 
for  they  were  not  human  beings  who  were  taking  tickets,  but 
wild  beasts,  haunted  by  fear,  and  spurred  on  by  a  desire  to 
escape.  These  brutes  saw  nothing  but  the  little  ticket  office,  the 
door  leading  to  the  train,  and  then  the  train  which  would  insure 
their  escape.  The  presence  of  the  young  priest  was  a  great  help 
to  us,  for  his  religious  character  made  people  refrain  sometimes 
from  blows. 

AVhen  once  all  my  people  were  installed  in  the  compartment 
which  had  been  reserved  for  them,  they  waved  their  farewells, 
threw  kisses,  and  the  train  started.  A  shudder  of  terror  then 
ran  through  me,  for  I  suddenly  felt  so  absolutely  alone.  It  was 
the  first  time  I  had  been  separated  from  the  little  child  who  was 
dearer  to  me  than  the  whole  world. 

Two  arms  were  then  thrown  affectionately  round  me,  and  a 
voice  murmured :  ' '  ]\Iy  dear  Sarah,  why  did  you  not  go,  too  ? 
You  are  so  delicate.  Will  you  be  able  to  bear  the  solitude  with- 
out the  dear  child?  " 

It  was  Mme.  Guerard,  who  had  arrived  too  late  to  kiss  the 
boy,  but  was  there  now  to  comfort  the  mother.  I  gave  way  to 
my  despair,  regretting  that  I  had  sent  him  away.  And  yet,  as 
I  said  to  myself,  there  might  be  fighting  in  Paris!  The  idea 
never  for  an  instant  occurred  to  me  that  I  might  have  gone  away 
with  him.  I  thought  that  I  might  be  of  some  use  in  Paris.  Of 
some  use,  but  in  what  way?  This  I  did  not  know.  The  idea 
seemed  stupid,  but  nevertheless  that  was  my  idea.  It  seemed  to 
me  that  everyone  who  was  well  ought  to  stay  in  Paris.  In  spite 
of  my  weakness  I  felt  that  I  was  well,  and  with  reason,  as  I 
proved  later  on.  I  therefore  stayed,  not  knowing  at  all  what  I 
was  going  to  do. 


164 


CHAPTER   XI 


I   ESTABLISH    MY   WAR   HOSPITAL 


}0R  some  days  I  was  perfectly  dazed,  missing  the  usual 
life  around  me,  and  missing  the  affection  of  those  I 
loved.  The  defense,  however,  was  being  organized, 
and  I  decided  to  use  my  strength  and  intelligence  in 
tending  the  wounded.  The  question  was  where  could  we  install 
an  ambulance^ 

The  Odeon  Theater  had  closed  its  doors,  but  I  moved  heaven 
and  earth  to  get  permission  to  organize  an  ambulance  at  the 
Odeon,  and,  thanks  to  Emile  de  Girardin  and  Duquesnel,  my 
wish  was  granted.  I  went  to  the  War  Office  and  made  my 
declaration,  and  my  request  and  my  offers  were  accepted  for  a 
military  ambulance. 

The  next  difficulty  was  that  I  wanted  food.  I  wrote  a  line 
to  the  Prefect  of  Police.  A  military  courier  arrived  very  soon 
after  my  letter,  bringing  me  a  note  from  the  prefect,  containing 
the  following  lines : 

Madame':  If  you  could  possibly  come  at  once  I  would  wait  for  you  until 
six  o'clock.  Excuse  the  earliness  of  the  hour,  but  I  have  to  be  at  the 
Chamber  at  nine  in  the  morning,  and  as  your  note  seems  to  be  urgent,  I  am 
anxious  to  do  all  I  can  to  be  of  service  to  you. 

COMTE   DE   KeRATRY. 

I  remembered  a  Comte  de  Keratry  who  had  been  introduced 
to  me  at  my  aunt's  house  the  evening  I  had  recited  poetry  ac- 
companied by  Rossini.  He  was  a  young  lieutenant,  good-look- 
ing, witty,  and  lively.  He  had  introduced  me  to  his  mother,  a 
very  charming  woman,  and  I  had  recited  poetry  at  her  soirees. 

165 


MKMOKIKS    OF    .MV     LIFE 

The  youii},'  lieutenant  had  ^one  to  Mexico  nwd  lor  sonic  time 
\\e  had  kept  up  a  correspondence,  but  tliis  had  j,M-ad\ially  ceased, 
and  we  Jiad  not  met  again.  I  asked  Mine,  (nierard  whether  she 
thought  that  the  prefect  might  be  a  near  rehitive  of  my  young 
friend's.  "  It  may  be  so,"  she  replied,  and  we  discussed  this  in 
the  carriage  Avhich  was  taking  us  at  once  to  the  Tuileries  Palace, 
where  the  prefect  had  his  offices.  My  heart  was  very  heavy  when 
we  came  to  the  stone  steps.  Only  a  few  months  previously,  one 
April  morning,  I  had  been  there  with  i\Ime.  Guerard.  Then,  as 
now,  a  footman  had  come  forward  to  open  the  door  of  my  car- 
riage, but  the  April  sunshine  had  then  lighted  up  the  steps, 
caught  the  shining  lamps  of  the  state  carriages,  and  sent  its  rays 
in  all  directions.  There  had  been  a  busy,  joyful  coming  and 
going  of  the  officers,  and  elegant  salutes  had  been  exchanged. 
On  this  occasion  the  misty,  crafty-looking  November  sun  fell 
heavily  on  all  it  touched.  Black,  dirty-looking  cabs  drove  up 
one  after  the  other,  knocking  against  the  iron  gate,  grazing  the 
steps,  advancing  or  moving  back,  according  to  the  coarse  shouts 
of  their  drivers.  Instead  of  the  elegant  salutations,  I  heard  now 
such  phrases  as : 

**  Well,  how  are  you,  old  chap?  "  "  Oh,  the  wooden  jaws!  " 
"  "Well,  any  news?  "  "  Yes,  it's  the  very  deuce  with  us!  " 
etc.,  etc.  .  .  .  The  palace  was  no  longer  the  same.  The  very  at- 
mosphere had  changed.  The  faint  perfume  which  elegant 
women  leave  in  the  air  as  they  pass  was  no  longer  there.  A 
vague  odor  of  tobacco,  of  greasy  clothes,  of  hair  plastered  with 
pomatum  made  the  atmosphere  seem  hea^y.  Ah,  the  beautiful 
French  Empress !  I  could  see  her  again  in  her  blue  dress  em- 
broidered with  silver,  calling  to  her  aid  Cinderella's  good  fairy 
to  help  her  on  again  with  her  little  slipper.  The  delightful 
young  Prince  Imperial,  too;  I  could  see  him  helping  me  to 
place  the  pots  of  verbena  and  Marguerites,  and  holding  in  his 
arms,  which  were  not  strong  enough  for  it,  a  huge  pot  of  rho- 
dodendrons, behind  which  his  handsome  face  completely  dis- 
appeared. I  could  see  the  Emperor  Napoleon  III  himself,  with 
his  half-closed  eyes,  clapping  his  hands  at  the  rehearsal  of  the 
courtesies  intended  for  him. 

166 


I    ESTABLISH    MY    WAR    HOSPITAL 

The  fair  Empress,  dressed  in  strange  clothes,  had  rushed 
away  in  the  carriage  of  her  American  dentist,  for  it  was  not 
even  a  Frenchman,  but  a  foreigner,  who  had  had  the  courage 
to  protect  the  unfortunate  woman.  And  the  gentle  Utopian 
Emperor  had  tried  in  vain  to  be  killed  on  the  battlefield.  Two 
horses  had  been  killed  under  him,  but  he  had  not  received  so 
much  as  a  scratch.  And  after  this  he  had  given  up  his  sword. 
And  we,  at  home,  had  all  wept  with  anger,  shame,  and  grief 
at  this  giving  up  of  the  sword.  Yet  what  courage  it  nuist  have 
required  for  this  brave  man  to  carry  out  such  an  act !  He  had 
wanted  to  save  a  hundred  thousand  men,  to  spare  a  hundred 
thousand  lives,  and  to  reassure  a  hundred  thousand  mothers. 
Our  poor,  beloved  Emperor!  History  will  some  day  do  him 
justice,  for  he  was  good,  humane,  and  confiding.  Alas !  alas ! 
he  was  too  confiding! 

I  stopped  a  minute  before  entering  the  prefect's  suite  of 
rooms.  I  was  obliged  to  wipe  my  eyes,  and,  in  order  to  change 
the  current  of  my  thoughts,  I  said  to  my  petite  dame : 

"  Tell  me,  should  you  think  me  pretty  if  you  saw  me  now 
for  the  first  time?  " 

"  Oh,  yes!  "  she  replied  warmly. 

"So  much  the  better!  "  I  said,  "  for  I  want  this  old  prefect 
to  think  me  pretty.  There  are  so  many  things  I  must  ask 
him  for." 

On  entering  his  room,  what  was  my  surprise  to  recognize 
in  him  the  lieutenant  I  knew.  He  had  become  captain  and 
then  prefect  of  the  Seine.  When  my  name  was  announced  by 
the  usher,  he  sprang  up  from  his  chair  and  came  forward  with 
his  face  beaming  and  both  hands  stretched  out. 

' '  Ah,  you  had  forgotten  me !  "  he  said ;  and  then  he  turned 
to  greet  Mme.  Guerard  in  a  friendly  way. 

^'  But  I  never  thought  I  was  coming  to  see  you,"  I  re- 
plied; "  and  I  am  delighted,"  I  continued,  "  for  you  will  let 
me  have  everything  I  ask  for." 

"  Only  that!  "  he  remarked,  with  a  short  burst  of  laugh- 
ter. "  AVell,  will  you  give  your  orders,  madame?  "  he  con- 
tinued. 

167 


MEMORIES    OI'    .MV    LIEE 

'*  Yes,  I  want  Ijrcad,  milk,  moat,  vegotablos,  sufrar,  wino, 
brandy,  potatoes,  o<;<^s,  colTee, "  I  said  in  ono  breath. 

"  Oh,  let  nie  get  my  breath!  "  exclaimed  the  count-prefect. 
"  You  speak  so  quickly  that  I  am  gasping." 

I  was  quiet  a  moment,  and  then  I  continued  : 

"  I  have  started  an  ambulance  at  the  Odeon,  but  a.s  it  Ls 
a  military  ambulance,  the  municipal  authorities  refuse  me  food. 
I  have  five  wounded  men  already,  and  I  can  manage  for  them, 
but  other  wounded  men  are  being  sent  to  me,  and  I  shall  have 
to  give  them  food." 

"  You  shall  1)0  supplied  above  and  beyond  all  your  wishes," 
said  the  prefect.  "  There  is  food  in  the  palace  which  was  being 
stored  by  the  unfortunate  Empress.  She  had  prepared  enough 
for  months  and  months.  I  will  have  all  you  want  sent  to  you, 
except  meat,  bread,  and  milk,  and  as  regards  these  I  will  give 
orders  that  your  ambulance  shall  be  included  in  the  municipal 
service,  although  it  is  a  military  one.  Then  I  will  give  you 
an  order  for  salt  and  some  other  things,  which  you  will  be  able 
to  get  from  the  Opera." 

"  From  the  Opera!  "  I  repeated,  looking  at  him  incredu- 
lously. "  But  it  is  only  being  built,  and  there  is  nothing  but 
scaffolding  there  yet." 

"  Yes;  but  you  must  go  through  the  little  doorway  under 
the  scaffolding  opposite  the  Rue  Scribe;  you  then  go  up  the 
little  spiral  staircase  leading  to  the  provision  office,  and  there 
you  will  be  supplied  with  what  you  want." 

"  There  is  still  something  else  I  want  to  ask,"  I  said. 

"  Go  on,  I  am  quite  resigned,  and  ready  for  your  orders," 
he  replied. 

"  Well,  I  am  very  uneasy,"  I  said,  "  for  they  have  put  a 
stock  of  powder  in  the  cellars  under  the  Odeon.  If  Paris  were 
to  be  bombarded  and  a  shell  should  fall  on  the  building,  wo 
should  all  be  blown  up,  and  that  is  not  the  aim  and  object  of 
an  ambulance." 

"  You  are  quite  right,"  said  the  kind  man,  "  and  nothing 
could  bo  more  stupid  than  to  store  powder  there.  I  shall  have 
more  difficulty  about  that,  though,"  he  continued,  "  for  I  shall 

168 


I    ESTABLISH    MY    WAR    HOSPITAL 

have  to  deal  with  a  crowd  of  stubborn  bourgeois,  who  want  to 
organize  the  defense  in  their  own  way.  You  must  try  to  get 
a  petition  for  me,  signed  by  the  most  influential  hoiLseholders 
and  tradespeople  in  the  neighborhood.  Now  are  you  satisfied  ?  ' ' 
he  asked. 

"  Yes,"  I  replied,  shaking  hands  with  him  cordially  with 
both  hands.  "  You  have  been  most  kind  and  charming.  Thank 
you  very  much." 

I  then  moved  toward  the  door,  but  I  stood  still  again  sud- 
denly, as  though  hypnotized  by  an  overcoat  hanging  over  a  chair. 
Mme.  Guerard  saw  what  had  attracted  my  attention,  and  she 
pulled  my  sleeve  gently : 

"  My  dear  Sarah,"  she  whispered,  "  do  not  do  that." 

I  looked  beseechingly  at  the  young  prefect,  but  he  did  not 
understand. 

"  What  can  I  do  now  to  oblige  you,  beautiful  IMadonna?  " 
he  asked. 

I  pointed  to  the  coat  and  tried  to  look  as  charming  as  pos- 
sible. 

"  1  am  very  sorry,"  he  said,  bewildered,  "  but  I  do  not  un- 
derstand at  all." 

I  was  still  pointing  to  the  coat. 

"  Give  it  me,  will  you?  "  I  said. 

''  My  overcoat?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  What  do  you  want  it  for?  " 

"  For  my  wounded  men  when  they  are  convalescent." 

He  sank  down  on  a  chair  in  a  fit  of  laughter.  I  was  rather 
vexed  at  this  uncontrollable  outburst,  and  I  continued  my  ex- 
planation. 

"  There  is  nothing  so  funny  about  it,"  I  said.  "  I  have  a 
poor  fellow,  for  instance,  whose  two  fingers  have  been  taken 
oif.  He  does  not  need  to  stay  in  bed  for  that,  naturally,  and 
his  soldier's  cape  is  not  warm  enough.  It  is  very  difficult  to 
warm  the  big  foyer  of  the  Odeon  sufficiently,  and  those  who 
are  well  enough  have  to  be  there.  The  man  I  tell  you  about 
is  warm  enough  at  present,  because  I  took  Henri  Fould's  over- 

169 


MKiMOJlIES    OF    M\     LIFE 

coat,  wIkmi  lie  ciiiiio  to  see  iiic  the  otlicf  day.  My  poor  soldier 
is  huge,  and  as  Henri  Fould  is  a  ^riant  I  niight  never  have  had 
such  an  opportunity  again.  1  shall  want  a  great  many  over- 
coats, though,  and   this  looks  like  a  very  warm   one." 

I  stroked  the  furry  lining  of  the  coveted  garment,  and  the 
young  prefect,  still  choking  with  laughter,  began  to  empty  the 
pockets  of  his  overcoat,  lie  pulled  out  a  magnificent  white  silk 
muffler  from  the  largest  pocket, 

"  Will  you  allow  me  to  keep  my  muffler?  "  he  asked. 

I  ])ut  on  a  resigned  expression  and  nodded  my  consent.  Our 
host  then  rang,  and  when  the  usher  appeared  he  handed  him 
the  overcoat,  and  said  in  a  solemn  voice,  in  spite  of  the  laughter 
in  his  eyes: 

"  Will  you  carry  this  to  the  carriage  for  these  ladies?  " 

I  thanked  him  again  and  went  away  feeling  very  happy. 

Twelve  days  later  I  returned,  taking  with  me  a  letter  cov- 
ered with  the  signatures  of  the  householders  and  tradesmen  liv- 
ing near  the  Odeon. 

On  entering  the  prefect's  room  1  was  petrified  to  see  him, 
instead  of  advancing  to  meet  me,  rush  toward  a  cupboard,  open 
the  door,  and  fling  something  hastily  into  it.  After  this  he 
leaned  back  against  the  door  as  though  to  prevent  my  opening  it. 

"  Excuse  me,"  he  said,  in  a  witty,  mocking  tone,  "  but  I 
took  a  violent  cold  after  your  first  visit.  I  have  just  put  my 
overcoat — oh,  only  an  ugly,  old  overcoat,  not  a  warm  one," 
he  added  quickly,  "  but  still  an  overcoat,  inside  there,  and 
there  it  is  now,  and  I  will  take  the  key  out  of  the  lock." 

He  put  the  key  carefully  into  his  pocket,  and  then  came 
forward  and  found  me  a  chair.  Our  conversation  soon  took  a 
more  serious  turn,  though,  for  the  news  was  very  bad.  For 
the  last  twelve  days  the  ambulances  had  been  crowded  with  the 
wounded.  Everything  was  in  a  bad  way,  home  polities  as  well 
as  foreign  politics.  The  Germans  were  advancing  on  Paris. 
The  Army  of  the  Loire  was  being  formed.  Gambetta,  Chanzy, 
Bourbaki,  and  Troclm  were  organizing  a  dasperate  defense.  We 
talked  for  some  time  about  all  these  sad  things,  and  I  told  him 
about  the  painful  impression  I  had  had  on  my  last  visit  to  the 

170 


AX    EARLY    PORTRAIT    OF    SARAH  BEIINIIARDT. 


I    ESTABLISH    MY    WAR    HOSPITAL 

Tiiileries,  of  my  remembrance  of  everyone,  so  brilliant,  so  con- 
siderate, and  so  happy  formerly,  and  so  deeply  to  be  pitied  at 
present.  We  were  silent  for  a  moment,  and  then  I  shook  hands 
with  him,  told  him  I  had  received  all  he  had  sent,  and  returned 
to  my  ambulance. 

The  prefect  had  sent  me  ten  barrels  of  wine  and  two  of 
brandy;  30,000  eggs  all  packed  in  boxes  with  lime  and  bran; 
a  hundred  bags  of  coffee,  boxes  of  tea,  forty  boxes  of  Al- 
bert biscuits,  a  thousand  tins  of  preserve,  and  a  quantity  of 
other  things.  M.  Menier,  the  great  chocolate  manufacturer, 
had  sent  me  five  hundred  pounds  of  chocolate.  One  of  my 
friends,  who  was  a  flour  dealer,  had  made  me  a  present  of 
twenty  sacks  of  flour,  ten  of  which  were  maize  flour.  Felix 
Potin,  my  neighbor  when  I  was  living  at  11  Boulevard  Male- 
sherbes,  had  responded  to  my  appeal  by  sending  two  barrels 
of  raisins,  a  hundred  boxes  of  sardines,  three  sacks  of  rice,  two 
sacks  of  lentils,  and  twenty  sugar  loaves.  From  M.  De  Roth- 
schild I  had  received  two  barrels  of  brandy  and  a  hundred 
bottles  of  his  own  wine  for  the  convalescents.  I  also  received 
a  very  unexpected  present.  Leonie  Dubourg,  an  old  school- 
fellow of  mine  at  the  Grandcharaps  Convent,  sent  me  fifty 
tin  boxes,  each  containing  four  pounds  of  salt  butter.  She 
had  married  a  very  wealthy  gentleman  farmer,  who  cultivated 
his  own  farms,  which  it  seems  were  very  numerous.  I  was  very 
much  touched  at  her  remembering  me,  for  I  had  never  seen 
her  since  the  old  days  at  the  convent.  I  had  also  asked  for  all 
the  overcoats  and  slippers  of  my  various  friends,  and  I  had 
bought  up  a  job  lot  of  two  hundred  flannel  vests.  My  Aunt 
Betty,  my  blind  grandmother's  sister,  who  is  still  living  in 
Holland,  and  is  now  ninety-three  years  of  age,  managed  to  get 

for  me,  through  the  delightful  Dutch  Ambassador,  Baron  , 

three  hundred  night  shirts  of  magnificent  Dutch  linen,  and  a 
hundred  pairs  of  sheets.  I  received  lint  and  bandages  from  every 
corner  of  Paris,  but  it  was  more  particularly  from  the  Palais 
de  rindustrie  that  I  used  to  get  my  provisions  of  lint  and  linen 
for  binding  wounds.  There  was  an  adorable  woman  there, 
named  Mile.  Hocquigny,  who  was  at  the  head  of  all  the  ambu- 

171 


.MKMORIES    OF    MV     I.IFi: 

lances.  All  that  she  did  was  done  with  a  chcorfnl  gracefulness, 
and  all  that  she  was  oblij^cd  to  refuse  she  refused  sorrowfully, 
but  still  in  a  <^^raeious  inaiuier.  She  was  at  that  time  more  than 
thirty  years  of  ap:e,  and  although  unmarried  she  looked  more 
like  a  young  married  woman.  She  had  large,  blue,  dreamy  eyes, 
and  a  laughing  mouth,  a  deliciously  oval  face,  little  dimples, 
and  crowning  all  this  grace,  this  dreamy  expression  and  this  co- 
(juetlish,  inviting  mouth,  a  wide  forehead  like  that  of  the  virgins 
painted  by  the  early  painters,  a  wide  and  rather  prominent  fore- 
head, encircled  by  hair  worn  in  smooth,  wide,  flat  bandeaux, 
separated  by  a  faultless  parting.  The  forehead  seemed  like 
the  protecting  rampart  of  this  delicious  face.  ISUle.  Hocquigny 
was  adored  by  everyone,  and  made  much  of,  but  she  remained 
invulnerable  to  all  homage.  She  was  happy  in  being  beloved, 
but  she  would  not  allow  anyone  to  express  affection  for  her. 

At  the  Palais  de  I'lndustrie  a  remarkable  number  of  cele- 
brated doctors  and  surgeons  were  on  duty,  and  they,  as  well  as 
the  convalescents,  were  all  more  or  less  in  love  with  Mile.  Hoc- 
quigny. As  she  and  I  were  great  friends,  she  confided  to  me 
her  observations  and  her  sorrowful  disdain.  Thanks  to  her 
I  was  never  short  of  linen  nor  of  lint.  I  had  organized  my 
amhulance  with  a  very  small  staff.  My  cook  was  installed  in 
the  public  foyer.  I  had  bought  her  an  immense  cooking  range, 
so  that  she  could  make  soups  and  herb  tea  for  fifty  men.  Her 
husband  was  chief  attendant.  I  had  given  him  two  assistants, 
and  ^Ime.  Guerard,  Mme.  Lambquin,  and  I  were  the  nurses. 
Two  of  us  sat  up  at  night,  so  that  we  each  went  to  bed  every 
third  night.  I  preferred  this  to  taking  on  some  woman  whom 
I  did  not  know.  Mme.  Lambquin  belonged  to  the  Odeon,  where 
she  used  to  take  the  part  of  the  duennas.  She  was  plain  and 
had  a  common  face,  but  she  was  very  talented.  She  talked  loud 
and  was  very  plain  spoken.  She  called  a  spade  a  spade,  and 
liked  frankness  and  no  under  meaning  to  things.  At  times  she 
was  a  trifle  embarrassing  with  the  crudeness  of  her  words  and 
her  remarks,  but  she  was  kind,  active,  alert,  and  devoted.  ^Fy 
various  friends  who  were  on  service  at  the  fortifications  came 
to  me  in  their  free  time  to  do  my  secretarial  work.     I  had  to 

172 


I    ESTABLISH    MY    WAR    HOSPITAL 

keep  a  book,  which  was  shown  every  day  to  a  sergeant  who  came 
from  the  Val-de-Grace  military  hospital,  giving  all  details  as 
to  how  many  men  came  into  our  ambulance,  how  many  died,  and 
how  many  recovered  and  left.  Paris  was  in  a  state  of  siege, 
and  no  one  could  go  far  outside  the  walls,  and  no  news  from 
outside  could  be  received.  The  Germans  were  not,  however, 
round  the  gates  of  the  city.  Baron  Larrey  came  now  and  then 
to  see  me,  and  I  had,  as  head  surgeon,  Dr.  Duchesne,  who  gave 
up  his  whole  time,  night  and  day,  to  the  care  of  my  poor  men 
during  the  five  months  that  this  truly  frightful  nightmare 
lasted. 

I  cannot  recall  those  terrible  days  without  the  deepest  emo- 
tion. It  was  no  longer  the  country  in  danger  that  kept  my 
nerves  strung  up,  but  the  sufferings  of  all  her  children.  There 
were  all  those  who  were  away  fighting,  those  who  were  brought 
in  to  us  wounded  or  dying,  the  noble  women  of  the  people,  who 
stood  for  hours  and  hours  in  the  queue  to  get  the  necessary  dole 
of  bread,  meat,  and  milk  for  their  poor  little  ones  at  home. 
Ah,  those  poor  women!  I  could  see  them  from  the  theater 
windows,  pressing  up  close  to  each  other,  blue  with  cold,  and 
stamping  their  feet  on  the  ground  to  keep  them  from  freezing, 
for  that  winter  was  the  most  cruel  one  we  had  had  for  twenty 
years.  Frequently  one  of  these  poor,  silent  heroines  was  brought 
in  to  me,  either  in  a  swoon  from  fatigue,  or  struck  down  sud- 
denly with  congestion  caused  by  cold.  On  the  20th  of  Decem- 
ber, three  of  these  unfortunate  women  were  brought  into  the 
ambulance.  One  of  them  had  her  feet  frozen,  and  she  lost 
the  big  toe  of  her  right  foot.  The  second  was  an  enormously 
stout  woman,  who  was  suckling  her  child,  and  her  poor  breasts 
were  harder  than  wood.  She  simply  howled  with  pain.  The 
youngest  of  the  three  was  a  girl  of  sixteen  to  eighteen  years  of 
age.  She  died  of  cold,  on  the  trestle  on  which  I  had  had  her 
placed  to  send  her  home.  On  the  24th  of  December,  there  were 
fifteen  degrees  of  cold.  I  often  sent  William,  our  attendant, 
out  with  a  little  brandy  to  warm  the  poor  women.  Oh,  the  suf- 
fering they  must  have  endured,  those'  heartbroken  mothers, 
those  sisters,  and  fiancees,  in  their  terrible  dread !     How  ex- 

173 


MEMORIES    OF    MY    IJFE 

disable  their  rebellion  seems  during  the  Commune,  and  even 
their  bloodthirsty  madness! 

My  ambulance  was  full.  I  had  sixty  bfds  and  was  obliged 
to  improvise  ten  more.  The  soldiers  were  installed  in  the 
artistes'  foyer  and  in  the  general  foyer,  and  the  officers  in  a 
room  which  had  formerly  been  used  for  refreshments. 

One  day  a  young  Breton  named  Marie  le  Gallec  was  brought 
in.  He  had  been  struck  by  a  bullet  in  the  chest  and  another  in 
the  wrist.  Dr.  Duchesne  bound  up  his  chest  firmly  and  splin- 
tered his  wrist.    He  then  said  to  me  very  simply : 

"  Let  him  have  everything  he  likes,  he  is  dying." 

I  bent  over  his  bed  and  said  to  him : 

"  Tell  me  anything  that  would  give  you  plea.sure,  Marie  le 
Gallec?  " 

"  Soup,"  he  answered  promptly,  in  the  most  comic  way. 

Mme.  Guerard  hurried  away  to  the  kitchen  and  soon  re- 
turned with  a  bowl  of  broth  and  pieces  of  toast.  I  placed  the 
bowl  on  the  little  wooden  shelf  with  four  short  legs  which  was 
so  convenient  for  the  meals  of  our  poor  sufferers.  The  wounded 
man  looked  up  at  me  and  said: 

"  Barra!  "  I  did  not  understand,  and  he  repeated: 
**  Barra!  "  His  poor  chest  caused  him  to  hiss  out  the  word, 
and  he  made  the  greatest  efforts  to  repeat  his  emphatic  request. 
I  sent  immediately  to  the  Marine  Office  thinking  that  there 
would  surely  be  some  Breton  seamen  there,  and  I  explained  my 
difficulty,  and  my  ignorance  of  the  Breton  dialect.  I  was  in- 
formed that  the  word  '*  barra  "  meant  bread.  I  hurried  at 
once  to  Le  Gallec  with  a  large  piece  of  bread.  His  face  lighted 
up  and,  taking  it  from  me  with  his  sound  hand,  he  broke  it 
up  with  his  teeth  and  let  the  pieces  fall  in  the  bowl.  He  then 
plunged  his  spoon  into  the  middle  of  the  broth  and  filled  it  up 
with  bread  until  the  spoon  could  stand  upright  in  it.  Wlien 
it  stood  up  without  shaking  about,  the  young  soldier  smiled. 
He  was  just  preparing  to  eat  this  horrible  concoction  when 
the  young  priest  from  St.  Sulpice,  who  had  my  amhulance  in 
charge,  arrived.  I  had  sent  for  him  on  hearing  the  doctor's 
sad  verdict.    He  laid  his  hand  gently  on  the  young  man's  shoul- 

174 


I    ESTABLISH    MY    WAR    HOSPITAL 

der,  thus  stopping  the  movement  of  his  arm.  The  poor  fellow 
looked  up  at  the  priest,  who  showed  him  the  Holy  Cup. 

"  Oh!  "  he  said  simply,  and  then,  placing  his  coarse  hand- 
kerchief over  the  steaming  soup,  he  put  his  hands  together.  We 
had  arranged  the  two  screens,  which  we  used  for  isolating  the 
dead  or  dying,  around  his  bed.  He  was  left  alone  with  the 
priest  while  I  went  on  my  rounds  to  calm  the  murmurers,  or 
help  the  believers  to  raise  themselves  for  the  prayer.  The  young 
priest  soon  pushed  aside  the  partition,  and  I  then  saw  IMarie 
le  Gallec,  with  a  beaming  face,  eating  his  abominable  bread 
sop.  He  fell  asleep  soon  afterward,  roused  up  to  ask  for  some- 
thing to  drink,  and  died  immediately,  in  a  slight  fit  of  choking. 

Fortunately  I  did  not  lose  many  men  out  of  the  three  hun- 
dred who  came  into  my  ambulance,  for  the  death  of  the  un- 
fortunate ones  completely  upset  me.  I  was  very  young  at  that 
time,  only  twenty-four  years  of  age,  but  I  could  nevertheless 
see  the  cowardliness  of  some  of  the  men,  and  the  heroism  of 
many  of  the  others.  A  young  Savoyard  eighteen  years  old 
had  had  his  forefinger  taken  off.  Baron  Larrey  was  quite  sure 
that  he  had  shot  it  off  himself  with  his  own  gun,  but  I  could 
not  believe  that.  I  noticed,  though,  that  in  spite  of  our  nursing 
and  care  the  wound  did  not  heal.  I  bound  it  up  in  a  differ- 
ent way,  and  the  following  day  I  saw  that  the  bandage  had  been 
altered.  I  mentioned  this  to  Mme.  Lambquin,  who  was  sitting 
up  that  night  together  with  ]\Ime.  Guerard. 

' '  Good ;  I  will  keep  my  eye  on  him ;  you  go  to  sleep,  my  child, 
and  count  on  me. ' ' 

The  next  day  when  I  arrived  she  told  me  that  she  had  caught 
the  young  man  scraping  the  wound  on  his  finger  with  his  knife. 
I  called  him  and  told  him  that  I  should  have  to  report  this  to 
the  Val-de-Grace  Hospital.  He  began  to  weep  and  vowed  to 
me  that  he  would  never  do  it  again,  and  five  days  later  he  was 
well.  I  signed  the  paper  authorizing  him  to  leave  the  ambu- 
lance, and  he  was  sent  to  the  army  of  the  defense.  I  often 
wondered  what  became  of  him. 

Another  of  our  patients  bewildered  us,  too.  Each  time  that 
his  wound  seemed  to  be  just  on  the  point  of  healing  up,  he  had 

175 


MEMORIES    OF    MV    LIFE 

a  violent  altack  of  dysciitcry  wliidi  threw  him  hack.  1'lii.s 
seemed  susj)i('i()iis  to  Dr.  Duehesne,  and  ho  jtskcd  iiie  to  waleh 
the  man.  At  the  end  of  a  considerable  time,  we  were  convinced 
that  our  wounded  man  had  thought  out  the  most  comical  scheme, 
lie  slept  next  the  wall  and  therefore  had  no  neighbor  on  the 
one  side.  During  the  night,  he  managed  to  file  the  brass  of 
his  bedstead.  lie  put  the  filings  in  a  little  pot  which  had  been 
used  for  ointment  of  some  kind.  A  few  drops  of  water  and  some 
salt  mixed  with  this  powdered  brass  formed  a  poison,  which 
might  have  cost  its  inventor  his  life.  I  was  furious  at  this 
stratagem,  I  wrote  to  the  Val-de-Orace,  and  an  ambulance 
conveyance  was  sent  to  take  this  unpatriotic  Frenchman  away. 

But  side  by  side  with  these  despicable  men,  what  heroism 
we  saw!  A  young  captain  was  brought  in  one  day.  lie  was  a 
tall  fellow,  a  regular  Hercules,  with  a  superb  head,  and  a  frank 
expression.  On  my  book  he  was  described  as  Captain  Menasson. 
He  had  been  struck  by  a  bullet  at  the  top  of  the  arm,  just  at 
the  shoulder.  AVith  a  nurse's  assistance  I  was  trying  as  gently 
as  possible  to  take  off  his  cloak,  when  three  bullets  fell  from  the 
hood  which  he  had  pulled  over  his  head,  and  I  counted  sixteen 
bullet  holes  in  the  cloak.  The  young  officer  had  stood  upright 
for  three  hours,  serving  as  a  target  himself,  while  covering 
the  retreat  of  his  men  as  they  fired  all  the  time  on  the  enemy. 
This  had  taken  place  among  the  Champigny  vines.  He  had  been 
brought  in  unconscious  in  a  hospital  conveyance.  He  had  lost 
a  great  deal  of  blood,  and  was  half  dead  with  fatigue  and  weak- 
ness. He  was  very  gentle  and  charming,  and  thought  himself 
sufficiently  well  two  days  later  to  return  to  the  fight.  The  doc- 
tor, however,  would  not  allow  this,  and  his  sister,  who  was  a 
nun,  besought  him  to  wait  until  he  was  something  like  well 
again. 

"  Oh,  not  quite  well,"  she  said,  smiling;  "  but  just  well 
enough  to  have  strength  to  fight." 

Soon  after  he  came  into  the  ambulance  the  Cross  of  the 
Legion  of  Honor  was  brought  for  him,  and  this  was  a  moment 
of  intense  emotion  for  everyone.  The  unfortunate  wounded 
men  who  could  not  move  turned  their  suffering  faces  toward 

176 


I    ESTABLISH    MY    WAR    HOSPITAL 

him  and,  with  their  eyes  shining  through  a  mist  of  tears,  gave 
him  a  fraternal  look.  The  more  convalescent  among  them  held 
out  their  hands  to  the  young  giant. 

It  was  Christmas  Eve,  and  I  had  decorated  the  ambulance 
with  festoons  of  green  leaves.  I  had  made  pretty  little  chapels 
in  front  of  the  Virgin  ]\Iary,  and  the  young  priest  from  St. 
Sulpice  came  to  take  part  in  our  poor  but  poetical  Christmas 
service.  He  repeated  some  beautiful  prayers,  and  the  wounded 
men,  many  of  whom  were  from  Brittany,  sang  some  sad,  solemn 
songs,  full  of  charm.  Porel,  the  present  manager  of  the  Vaude- 
ville Theater,  had  been  wounded  on  the  Avron  Plateau.  He 
was  then  convalescent,  and  was  one  of  my  guests,  together  with 
two  officers  now  ready  to  leave  the  ambulance.  That  Christmas 
supper  is  one  of  my  most  charming  and  at  the  same  time  most 
melancholy  memories.  It  was  served  in  the  small  room  which 
we  had  made  into  a  bedroom.  Our  three  beds  were  covered  with 
draperies  and  skins  which  I  had  fetched  from  home,  and  we 
used  them  as  seats. 

Mile.  Hocquigny  had  sent  me  five  yards  of  white  pigs'  pud- 
ding,^ the  famous  Christmas  dish,  and  all  my  poor  soldiers  who 
were  well  enough,  were  delighted  with  this  delicacy.  One  of 
my  friends  had  had  twenty  large  brioche  cakes  made  for  me, 
and  I  had  ordered  some  large  bowls  of  punch,  the  colored  flames 
from  which  amused  the  grown-up  sick  children  immensely. 
The  young  priest  from  St.  Sulpice  accepted  a  piece  of  brioche 
and,  after  taking  a  little  white  wine,  left  us.  Ah,  how  charm- 
ing and  good  he  was,  that  poor  young  priest !  And  how  well 
he  managed  to  make  that  unbearable  Fortin  cease  talking. 
Gradually  the  latter  began  to  get  humanized,  until  finally  he 
began  to  think  the  priest  was  a  good  sort  of  fellow.  Poor  young 
priest !  He  was  shot  by  the  Communists,  and  I  cried  for  days 
and  days  over  his  murder. 

'  In  France  "  white  'pudding  "  is  as  often  eaten  as  "  black  pudding,"  and  is 
somewhat  similar  in  taste. 


13 


177 


CHAPTER    XTI 


MORE    IlOSPITAlv    DAYS 


S§^<;^^HE  month  of  January  arrived.  The  army  of  the  ene- 
my held  Paris  day  by  day  in  a  still  closer  ^rip. 
»^  Food  was  getting  scarce.  Bitter  cold  enveloped  the 
city,  and  the  poor  soldiers  who  fell,  sometimes  only 
slightly  wounded,  passed  away  gently  in  a  sleep  that  was  eter- 
nal, their  brains  numbed  and  their  bodies  half  frozen. 

No  more  news  could  be  received  from  outside ;  but  thanks 
to  the  United  States  Minister,  who  had  chosen  to  remain  in 
Paris,  a  letter  arrived  from  time  to  time.  It  was  in  this  way 
that  I  received  a  thin  slip  of  paper,  as  delicate  as  a  primrose 
petal,  bringing  me  the  following  message:  "Everyone  well. 
Courage.  A  thousand  kisses.  Your  mother."  This  impalpable 
missive  dated  from  seventeen  days  previously. 

And  so  my  mother,  my  sisters,  and  my  little  boy  were  at 
The  Hague  all  this  time,  and  my  mind  which  had  been  contin- 
ually traveling  in  their  direction  had  been  wandering  along  the 
wrong  route,  toward  Havre,  where  I  thought  they  were  estab- 
lished tranquilly  at  the  house  of  a  cousin  of  my  father's  mother. 

I  had  my  tw^o  aunts  living  at  The  Hague,  but  the  question 
was,  Were  they  there  at  this  time  ?  I  no  longer  knew,  and  from 
that  moment  I  never  ceased  suffering  the  most  anxious  and  tor- 
turing mental  distress. 

I  was  doing  all  in  my  power  just  then  to  have  some  wood 
for  burning.  Comte  de  Keratry  had  sent  me  a  large  provision 
before  his  departure  to  the  provinces,  in  a  balloon,  on  the  9th 
of  October.     I  was  now  very  short,  and  I  would  not  allow  the 

ITS 


MORE    HOSPITAL    DAYS 

stock  we  had  in  the  cellars  to  be  touched,  so  that  we  should 
not  be  quite  without  fuel  in  case  of  an  emergency.  I  had  all 
the  little  footstools  belonging  to  the  theater  used  for  firewood, 
all  the  wooden  cases  in  which  the  accessories  were  kept,  a  good 
number  of  old  Roman  benches,  armchairs,  and  curule  chairs  that 
were  stowed  away  under  the  Odeon,  and,  indeed,  everything 
which  came  to  hand.  Finally,  taking  pity  on  my  despair,  pretty 
Mile.  Hocquigny  sent  me  about  twenty  thousand  pounds '  weight 
of  wood,  and  I  then  took  courage  again. 

I  had  been  told  about  some  new  system  of  keeping  meat, 
by  which  the  meat  neither  lost  its  juices  nor  its  nutritive  quality. 
I  sent  ]\Ime.  Guerard  to  the  Council  House,  in  the  neighborhood 
of  the  Odeon,  where  such  provisions  were  distributed,  but  some 
brute  answered  her  that  when  I  had  removed  all  the  Buddhistic 
images  from  my  ambulance  I  should  receive  the  necessary  food. 
M,  Ilerisson,  the  mayor,  with  some  functionary  holding  an  in- 
fluential post,  had  been  to  inspect  my  ambulance.  The  impor- 
tant personage  had  requested  me  to  have  the  beautiful  white 
Virgins,  which  were  on  the  mantelpieces  and  tables,  taken  away, 
as  well  as  the  Divine  Crucified  One,  hanging  on  the  wall  of  each 
room  in  which  there  were  any  of  the  wounded.  I  refused  in 
a  somewhat  insolent  and  very  decided  way  to  act  in  accordance 
with  the  wish  of  my  visitor;  whereupon,  the  famous  republican 
turned  his  back  on  me,  and  gave  orders  that  I  should  be  refused 
everything  at  the  Council  House.  I  was  very  determined,  how- 
ever, and  I  moved  heaven  and  earth  until  I  succeeded  in  being 
included  for  the  distribution  of  food,  in  spite  of  the  orders 
of  the  chief.  It  is  only  fair  to  say  that  the  mayor  was  a  charm- 
ing man.  Mme.  Guerard  returned  after  her  third  visit,  with 
a  child  pushing  a  hand  barrow  containing  ten  enormous  bottles 
of  the  miraculous  meat.  I  received  the  precious  consignment 
with  infinite  joy,  for  my  men  had  been  almost  without  meat 
for  the  last  three  days;  and  the  beloved  pot-au-fen  was  an  almost 
necessary  resource  for  the  poor  wounded  fellows.  On  all  the 
bottles  were  directions  as  to  opening  them :  ' '  Let  the  meat  soak 
so  many  hours,  etc.,  etc." 

]\ime.  Lambquin,  Mme,  Guerard,  and  I,  together  with  all  the 

179 


iMEM()UIl':s    OF    MY    LIFE 

stafl'  of  tilt'  iiitiniiai y,  wtTc  soon  <;roup('(J,  anxiously  and  in- 
([iiisitivi'ly,  around  tlicse  <flass  receptacles. 

I  told  the  head  attendant  to  open  the  largest  oi"  the  bottles, 
in  which  through  the  glass  we  could  see  an  enormous  piece  of 
beef,  surrounded  by  thick,  muddy-looking  water.  The  string, 
fastened  round  the  rough  paper  which  hid  the  cork,  was  cut  and 
then,  just  as  the  man  was  about  to  put  the  corkscrew  in,  a  deaf- 
ening explosion  was  heard,  and  a  rank  odor  filled  the  room. 
Everyone  rushed  away  terrified.  I  called  them  all  back,  scared 
and  disgusted  as  they  were,  and  showed  them  the  following  words 
on  the  directions :  "Do  not  be  alarmed  at  the  bad  odor  on  open- 
ing the  bottle."  Courageously,  and  with  resignation,  we  took  up 
our  work  once  more,  though  we  felt  sick  all  the  time  from  the 
abominable  exhalation.  I  took  the  beef  out  and  placed  it  on  a 
dish  that  had  been  brought  for  the  purpose.  Five  minutes  later 
this  meat  turned  blue,  and  then  black,  and  the  stench  from  it  was 
so  unbearable  that  I  decided  to  throw  it  away.  Mme.  Lambquin 
was  wiser,  though,  and  more  reasonable. 

' '  No,  oh,  no,  my  dear  girl, ' '  she  said ;  "  in  these  times  it  will 
not  do  to  throw  meat  away,  even  though  it  may  be  rotten.  Let 
us  put  it  in  the  glass  bottle  again  and  send  it  back  to  the  Council 
House.  I  followed  her  wise  advice,  and  it  was  a  very  good  thing 
I  did,  for  another  ambulance,  installed  at  Boulevard  de  ]\Iedicis, 
on  opening  these  bottles  of  meat  had  been  as  horrified  as  we  were 
and  had  thrown  the  contents  into  the  street.  A  few  minutes  after 
the  crowd  had  gathered  round  in  a  mob  and,  refusing  to  listen 
to  anything,  had  yelled  out  insults  addressed  to  "  the  aris- 
tocrats," "  the  clericals,"  and  "  the  traitors,"  who  were  throw- 
ing good  meat,  intended  for  the  sick,  into  the  street,  so  that  the 
dogs  were  enjoying  it,  w^hile  the  people  were  starving  with 
hunger.  It  was  with  the  greatest  difficulty  that  the  wretched, 
mad  people  had  been  prevented  from  invading  the  ambulance, 
and  when  one  of  the  unfortunate  nurses  had  gone  out,  later  on, 
she  had  been  mobbed,  and  beaten,  until  she  was  left  half  dead 
from  fright  and  blows.  She  did  not  want  to  be  carried  back  to 
her  own  ambulance,  and  the  druggist  begged  me  to  take  her  in. 
I  kept  her  for  a  few  days,  in  one  of  the  boxes  in  the  second  gallery 

ISO 


MORE    HOSPITAL    DAYS 

of  the  theater,  and  when  she  was  better  she  asked  if  she  might  stay 
with  me  as  a  nurse.  I  granted  her  wish,  and  kept  her  with  me 
afterwards  as  a  maid. 

She  was  a  fair-haired  girl,  gentle  and  timid,  and  was  pre- 
destined for  misfortune.  She  was  found  dead  in  the  Pere 
Lachaise  Cemetery  after  the  skirmish  between  the  Communists 
and  the  Versailles  troop.  A  stray  bullet  had  struck  her  in  the 
back  of  the  neck  as  she  was  praying  at  the  grave  of  her  little 
sister,  who  had  died  two  days  before  from  smallpox.  I  had 
taken  her  with  me  to  St.  Germain,  where  I  had  gone  to  stay  dur- 
ing the  horrors  of  the  Commune.  Poor  girl !  I  had  allowed  her 
to  go  to  Paris  very  much  against  my  own  will. 

As  we  could  not  count  on  this  preserved  meat  for  our  food, 
I  made  a  contract  with  a  knacker,  who  agreed  to  supply  me,  at 
rather  a  high  price,  with  horseflesh,  and  until  the  end  this  was 
the  only  meat  we  had  to  eat.  Well  prepared  and  well  seasoned, 
it  was  very  good. 

Hope  had  now  fled  from  all  hearts  and  we  were  living  in  the 
expectation  of  we  knew  not  what.  An  atmosphere  of  misfortune 
seemed  to  hang  like  lead  over  us,  and  it  was  a  sort  of  relief  when 
the  bombardment  commenced  on  the  27th  of  December.  At  last, 
we  felt  that  something  fresh  was  happening.  It  was  an  era  of 
fresh  suffering.  There  was  some  stir,  at  any  rate,  for  the 
last  fortnight  the  fact  of  not  knowing  anything  had  been  kill- 
ing us. 

On  the  1st  of  January,  1871,  we  lifted  our  glasses  to  the 
health  of  the  absent  ones,  to  the  repose  of  the  dead ;  and  the  toast 
choked  us  with  a  lump  in  our  throats. 

Every  night  we  used  to  hear  the  dismal  cry  of  "  Amhulancel 
Amhidancel  "  underneath  the  windows  of  the  Odeon.  We  went 
down  to  meet  the  pitiful  procession,  and  one,  two,  or  sometimes 
three  conveyances  would  be  there,  full  of  our  poor,  wounded 
soldiers.  There  would  be  ten  or  twelve  rows  of  them,  lying  or 
sitting  up  on  the  straw.  I  said  that  I  had  one  or  two  places,  and 
lifting  the  lantern,  I  looked  into  the  conveyance,  and  the  faces 
would  then  turn  slowly  toward  the  lamp.  Some  of  the  men 
would  close  their  eyes,  as  they  were  too  weak  to  bear  even  that 

181 


MKMOIUKS    OK    MV     LIFE 

feeble  lipht.  With  the  lielj)  of  the  sergeant  who  accoiripanied 
the  conveyance,  and  our  attendant,  one  of  the  unfortunates 
would  with  difficulty  be  lifted  to  the  narrow  litter  f)n  which  he 
was  to  be  carried  up  to  the  hospital. 

Oh,  what  sorrowful  anguish  it  was  for  nie  when,  on  lifting 
the  patient's  head,  I  discovered  that  it  was  getting  heavy,  oh, 
so  heavy ;  and  when  bending  over  that  inert  face  I  felt  that  there 
was  no  longer  any  breath!  The  sergeant  would  then  give  the 
order  to  take  him  back,  and  the  poor  dead  man  was  put  back  in 
his  place,  and  another  wounded  man  was  lifted  out.  The  other 
dying  men  would  then  move  back  a  little,  in  order  not  to  profane 
the  dead.  Ah,  what  grief  it  was  when  the  sergeant  said:  "  Do 
try  to  take  one  or  two  more  in !  It  is  a  pity  to  drag  these  poor 
chaps  about  from  one  hospital  to  another.  The  VaI-de-Gr£ice  is 
full." 

"  Very  well,  I  will  take  two  more,"  I  would  say,  and  then  I 
wondered  where  we  should  put  them.  We  had  to  give  up  our 
own  beds,  and  in  this  way  the  poor  fellows  were  saved.  Ever 
since  the  first  of  January,  we  had  all  three  been  sleeping  every 
night  at  the  hospital.  We  had  some  loose  dressing-gowns  of 
gray  swanskin,  not  unlike  the  soldiers'  cloaks.  The  first  of  us 
who  heard  a  cry  or  a  groan  sprang  out  of  bed,  and  if  necessary, 
called  the  other  twH). 

On  the  10th  of  January,  Mme.  Guerard  and  I  were  sitting  up 
at  night,  on  one  of  the  lounges  in  the  artistes'  foyer,  awaiting 
the  dismal  cry  of  ''Ambulance]''  There  had  been  a  fierce 
affray  at  Clamart  and  we  knew  that  there  would  be  many 
wounded.  I  was  telling  her  of  my  fear  that  the  bombs,  which 
had  already  reached  the  INIuseum,  the  Sorbonne,  the  Salpetriere, 
the  Val-de-Grace,  would  fall  on  the  Odeon. 

"  Oh,  but  my  dear  Sarah,"  said  the  sweet  woman,  "  the 
hospital  flag  is  waving  so  high  above  it,  that  there  could  be  no 
mistake.  If  it  were  struck  it  would  be  purposely,  and  that 
would  be  abominable." 

"  But  Guerard,"  I  replied,  "  why  should  you  expect  these 
execrable  enemies  of  ours  to  be  better  than  we  are  ourselves? 
Did  we  not  behave  like  savages  at  Berlin,  in  1806  ?  ' ' 

182 


MORE    HOSPITAL    DAYS 

* '  But  at  Paris  there  are  such  admirable  public  monuments, ' ' 
she  urged. 

"  Well,  and  was  not  Moscow  full  of  masterpieces?  The 
Kremlin  is  one  of  the  finest  buildings  in  the  world.  That  did 
not  prevent  us  giving  that  admirable  city  up  to  pillage.  Oh, 
no,  my  poor  petite  dame,  do  not  deceive  yourself !  Armies  may 
be  Russian,  German,  French  or  Spanish,  but  they  are  armies, 
that  is,  they  are  beings  who  form  an  impersonal  '  whole  ' — a 
'  whole  '  that  is  ferocious  and  irresponsible.  The  Germans 
will  bombard  the  whole  of  Paris,  if  the  possibility  of  doing  so 
should  be  offered  them.  You  must  make  up  your  mind  to  that, 
my  dear  Guerard." 

I  had  not  finished  my  sentence  when  a  terrible  detonation 
roused  the  sleeping  neighborhood.  Mme.  Guerard  and  I  had 
been  seated  opposite  each  other.  We  found  ourselves  standing 
up,  close  together  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  terrified.  My  poor 
cook,  her  face  quite  white,  came  to  me  for  safety.  The  reports 
continued  rather  frequently.  The  bombarding  had  commenced 
from  our  side  that  night.  I  went  round  to  the  wounded  men, 
but  they  did  not  seem  to  be  much  disturbed.  Only  one,  a  boy 
of  fifteen,  whom  we  had  surnamed  ' '  pink  baby, ' '  was  sitting  up 
in  bed.  When  I  went  to  him  to  soothe  him,  he  showed  me  his 
little  medal  of  the  Holy  Virgin. 

"It  is  thanks  to  her  that  I  was  not  killed,"  he  said.  "  If 
they  would  put  the  Holy  Virgin  on  the  ramparts  of  Paris  the 
bombs  would  not  come." 

He  lay  down  again  then,  holding  his  little  medal  in  his  hand, 
and  the  bombarding  continued  until  six  in  the  morning. 

"  Ambulance!  Ambulance!  "  we  then  heard,  and  Mme. 
Guerard  and  I  went  down. 

"  Here,"  said  the  sergeant,  "take  this  man.  He  is  losing 
all  his  blood,  and  if  I  take  him  any  farther  he  will  not  arrive 
living. ' ' 

The  wounded  man  was  put  on  the  litter,  but,  as  he  was 
German,  I  asked  the  subofficer  to  take  all  his  papers  and  give 
them  in  at  the  ]Ministry.  We  gave  the  man  the  place  of  one  of 
the  convalescents,  whom  I  installed  elsewhere.     I  asked  him  his 

183 


MEMORIES    OF    MY    LIFE 

name  and  he  told  me  that  it  was  Frantz  Mayer,  and  that  he  was 
the  first  soldier  of  the  Silesian  Landwehr.  He  then  fainted, 
from  weakness  caused  by  loss  of  blood.  He  soon  came  to  himself 
again,  with  our  care,  and  I  then  asked  him  whether  he  wanted 
anything,  but  he  did  not  answer  a  word.  I  supposed  that  he 
did  not  speak  French,  and  as  there  was  no  one  at  the  hospital 
who  spoke  German,  I  waited  until  the  next  day  to  send  for  some 
one  who  knew  his  language.  I  must  own  that  the  poor  man  was 
not  welcomed  by  his  dormitory  companions.  A  soldier  named 
Fortin,  who  was  twenty-three  years  of  age,  and  a  veritable  child 
of  Paris,  a  comical  fellow,  mischievous,  droll,  and  good-natured, 
never  ceased  railing  against  the  young  German,  who  on  his  side 
never  flinched.  I  went  several  times  to  Fortin,  and  begged 
him  to  be  quiet,  but  it  w^as  all  in  vain.  Every  fresh  outbreak  of 
his  was  greeted  with  wild  laughter,  and  his  success  put  him  into 
the  gayest  of  humors,  so  that  he  continued,  getting  more  and 
more  excited  all  the  time.  The  others  were  prevented  from 
sleeping  and  he  moved  about  wildly  in  his  bed,  bursting  out  into 
abusive  language  when  too  abrupt  a  movement  intensified  his 
suffering.  The  unfortunate  fellow  had  had  his  sciatic  nerve 
torn  by  a  bullet,  and  he  had  to  endure  the  most  atrocious  pain. 

After  my  third  fruitless  appeal  for  silence,  I  ordered  the 
two  men  attendants  to  carry  him  into  a  room  where  he  would  be 
alone.  He  sent  for  me,  and  when  I  went  to  him,  promised  to 
behave  well  all  night  long.  I  therefore  countermanded  the 
order  I  had  given,  and  he  kept  his  word.  The  following  day  I 
had  Frantz  Mayer  carried  into  a  room  where  there  was  a  young 
Breton  who  had  had  his  skull  fractured  by  the  bursting  of  a 
shell,  and  therefore  needed  the  utmost  tranquillity. 

One  of  my  friends,  who  spoke  German  very  well,  came  to 
see  whether  the  Silesian  wanted  anything.  The  wounded  man's 
face  lighted  up  on  hearing  his  own  language  and  then,  turning 
to  me,  he  said : 

"I  understand  French  quite  well,  madame,  and  if  I  listened 
calmly  to  the  horrors  poured  forth  by  your  French  soldier  it  was 
because  I  know  that  you  cannot  hold  out  two  days  longer,  and  I 
can  understand  his  exasperation." 

184 


MORE    HOSPITAL    DAYS 

* '  And  why  do  you  think  that  we  cannot  hold  out  ?  ' ' 

"  Because  I  know  that  you  are  reduced  to  eating  rats."  Dr, 
Duchesne  had  just  arrived,  and  he  was  dressing  the  horrible 
wound  which  the  patient  had  above  his  thigh. 

' '  Well, ' '  he  said,  ' '  my  friend,  as  soon  as  your  fever  has  gone 
down  you  shall  eat  an  excellent  wing  of  chicken. ' '  The  German 
shrugged  his  shoulders  and  the  doctor  continued:  "  Meanwhile 
drink  this,  and  tell  me  what  you  think  of  it. ' ' 

Dr.  Duchesne  gave  him  a  glass  of  water  with  a  little  of  the 
excellent  cognac  which  the  prefect  had  sent  me.  That  was  the 
only  tisane  that  my  soldiers  took.  The  Silesian  said  no  more, 
but  he  put  on  the  reserved,  circumspect  manner  of  people  who 
know  and  will  not  speak. 

The  bombardment  continued,  and  the  hospital  flag  certainly 
served  as  a  target  for  our  enemies,  for  they  fired  with  surprising 
exactitude,  and  altered  their  firing  directly  a  bomb  fell  a  little 
away  from  the  neighborhood  of  the  Luxembourg.  Thanks  to 
this,  we  had  more  than  twelve  bombs  one  night.  These  dismal 
shells,  when  they  burst  in  the  air,  were  like  the  fireworks  at  a 
fete.  The  shining  splinters  then  fell  down  black  and  deadly. 
George  Boyer,  who  at  that  time  was  a  young  journalist,  came  to 
call  on  me  at  the  hospital,  and  I  told  him  about  the  terrifying 
splendors  of  the  night. 

' '  Oh,  how  much  I  should  like  to  see  all  that !  "  he  said. 

"  Come  this  evening,  toward  nine  or  ten  o'clock,  and  you  will 
see,"  I  replied. 

We  spent  several  hours  at  the  little  round  window  of  my 
dressing-room,  which  looked  out  toward  Chatillon.  It  was  from 
there  that  the  Germans  fired  the  most. 

We  listened,  in  the  silence  of  the  night,  to  the  muffled  sounds 
coming  from  there,  right  over  yonder,  then  there  would  be  a 
light,  a  formidable  noise  in  the  distance,  and  the  bomb  arrived, 
falling  in  front  of  us  or  behind,  bursting  either  in  the  air  or  on 
reaching  its  goal.  Once  we  had  only  just  time  to  draw  back 
quickly,  and  even  then  the  disturbance  in  the  atmosphere  af- 
fected us  so  violently  that  for  a  second  we  were  under  the  im- 
pression we  had  been  struck. 

185 


MEMORIES    OF    MV     MIE 

Tlu'  shell  had  fallen  just  uiulernealh  iriy  (Iressinjr-roojn,  j;raz- 
hi{s;  the  cornice,  which  it  dra|r}j;<-'tl  down  in  its  fall  to  the  ground, 
and  bursting  there  feebly.  But  what  was  our  amazement  to  see 
a  little  crowd  of  children  swoop  down  on  the  burning  pieces,  just 
like  a  lot  of  sparrows  on  fresh  manure  when  the  carriage  has 
passed  !  The  little  vagabonds  were  quarreling  over  the  debris  of 
these  engines  of  warfare.  I  wondered  what  they  could  possibly 
do  with  them. 

' '  Oh,  there  is  not  much  mj^stery  about  it !  "  said  Boyer ; 
"  these  little  starving  urchins  will  sell  them." 

This  proved  to  be  true.  One  of  the  men  attendants,  whom  I 
sent  to  find  out,  brought  back  with  him  a  child  of  about  ten 
years  old. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  that,  my  little  man?  "  I 
asked  him,  picking  up  the  piece  of  shell,  w^hich  was  warm  and 
still  dangerous,  by  the  edge  where  it  had  burst. 

"  I  am  going  to  sell  it,"  he  replied. 

"  What  for?  " 

"  To  buy  my  turn  in  the  queue,  when  the  meat  is  being  dis- 
tributed." 

"  But  you  risk  your  life,  my  poor  child.  Sometimes  the 
shells  come  quickly,  one  after  the  other.  Where  were  you  when 
this  one  fell?  " 

' '  Lying  down  on  the  stone  of  the  wall  that  supports  the  iron 
railings."  He  pointed  across  to  the  Luxembourg  gardens,  op- 
posite the  artistes^  entrance  to  the  Odeon. 

We  bought  up  all  the  dehris  that  the  child  had,  without  at- 
tempting to  give  him  advice  which  might  have  sounded  wise. 
AVhat  was  the  use  of  preaching  wisdom  to  this  poor  little  creature 
who  heard  of  nothing  but  massacres,  fire,  revenge,  retaliation  and 
all  the  rest  of  it,  for  the  sake  of  honor,  for  the  sake  of  religion, 
for  the  sake  of  right !  And  then,  too,  how  was  it  possible  to  keep 
out  of  the  way  ?  All  the  people  living  in  the  Faubourg  St.  Ger- 
main were  liable  to  be  blown  to  pieces,  as  the  enemy,  very  luckily, 
could  only  bombard  Paris  on  that  side  and  not  everywhere  even 
there.  No,  we  were  certainly  in  the  most  dangerous  neighbor- 
hood. 

186 


MORE    HOSPITAL    DAYS 

One  day  Baron  Larrey  came  to  see  Frantz  Mayer,  who  was 
very  ill.  He  wrote  a  prescription,  which  a  young  errand  boy 
M-as  told  to  wait  for,  and  bring  back  very,  very  quickly.  As  the 
boy  was  rather  given  to  loitering,  I  went  to  the  window.  His 
name  was  Victor,  but  we  called  him  Toto.  The  druggist  lived 
at  the  corner  of  the  Place  ]\ledicis.  It  was  then  six  o'clock  in 
the  evening.  Toto  looked  up,  and  on  seeing  me,  he  began  to 
laugh  and  jump  as  he  hurried  to  the  druggist's.  He  had  only 
five  or  six  more  yards  to  go,  and  as  he  turned  round  to  look  up  at 
my  window,  I  clapped  my  hands  and  called  out :  ' '  Good,  be  back 
soon!  "  Alas!  Before  the  poor  boy  could  open  his  mouth  to 
reply,  he  was  cut  in  two  by  a  shell  which  had  just  fallen.  It 
did  not  burst,  but  bounced  a  j^ard  high,  and  then  struck  poor 
Toto  right  in  the  middle  of  the  chest.  I  uttered  such  a  shriek 
that  everyone  came  rushing  to  me.  I  could  not  speak,  but 
pushed  everyone  aside  and  rushed  downstairs,  beckoning  for 
some  one  to  come  with  me. 

"  A  litter  —  the  boy  —  the  druggist's,"  I  managed  to 
articulate. 

Ah,  what  a  horror,  what  an  awful  horror !  AVhen  we 
reached  the  poor  child,  his  intestines  were  all  over  the  ground, 
his  chest,  and  his  poor  little  red,  chubby  face  had  the  tiesh  en- 
tirely taken  off.  He  had  neither  eyes,  nose,  nor  mouth,  nothing 
nothing  but  some  hair,  at  the  end  of  a  shapeless  bleeding  mass, 
a  yard  away  from  his  body.  And  it  was  as  though  a  tiger's 
two  claws  had  opened  the  body  and  emptied  it  with  fury  and 
a  refinement  of  cruelty,  leaving  nothing  but  the  poor  little 
skeleton. 

Baron  Larrey,  who  was  the  best  of  men,  turned  slightly  pale 
at  this  sight.  He  saw  many  such  sights  certainly,  but  this  poor 
little  fellow  was  a  holocaust  which  had  been  terribly  mutilated. 
Ah,  the  injustice,  the  infamy  of  war !  Will  the  much  dreamed- 
of  time  never  come,  when  wars  are  no  longer  possible,  when  the 
monarch  who  wants  war  will  be  dethroned  and  imprisoned  as 
a  malefactor?  Will  the  time  never  come  when  there  will  be  a 
cosmopolitan  council,  where  the  wise  man  of  every  country  will 
represent  his  nation,  and  where  the  rights  of  humanity  will  be 

187 


MEMORIES    C)l-'    AIV    LIFE 

discussed  and  respected  !  So  many  men  think  as  I  (h).  So  many 
women  talk  as  I  do,  and  yet  nothing  is  done. 

A  man,  whom  I  liked  very  nnieh,  was  cnfjafrcd  in  certain  in- 
ventions for  balloons.  To  find  ont  how  to  steer  balloons  means, 
for  me,  findiiijx  out  how  to  realize  my  dream,  namely,  to  fly  in  the 
air,  to  approach  the  sky,  and  have  under  one's  feet  the  moist 
downlike  clouds.  Ah,  how  interested  I  was  in  my  friend's  re- 
seai'ches!  One  day,  though,  he  came  to  nie  very  much  excited 
witli  a  new  discovery, 

"  I  have  discovered  something  about  which  I  am  wild  with 
delight!  "  he  said.  He  then  began  to  explain  to  me  that  his 
balloon  would  be  able  to  carry  inflammable  matter  without  the 
least  danger,  thanks  to  this,  and  thanks  to  that. 

"  But  what  for?  "  I  asked,  bewildered  by  his  explanations 
and  half  crazy  wuth  so  many  technical  words. 

"  What  for?  "  he  repeated;  "why,  for  war!  "  he  replied. 
' '  We  shall  be  able  to  fire,  and  to  throw  terrible  bombs  to  a  dis- 
tance of  a  thousand,  twelve  hundred,  and  even  fifteen  hundred 
yards,  and  it  would  be  impossible  for  us  to  be  harmed  at  such  a 
distance.  ]\Iy  balloon,  thanks  to  a  substance  which  is  my  in- 
vention, wdth  which  the  covering  would  be  coated,  would  have 
nothing  to  fear  from  fire  nor  yet  from  gas, ' ' 

"  I  do  not  want  to  know  anything  more  about  you  or  your  in- 
vention," I  said,  interrupting  him  brusquely.  "  I  thought  you 
were  a  humane  savant,  and  you  are  a  wild  beast.  Your  reseaches 
were  in  connection  with  the  most  beautiful  manifestation  of 
human  genius,  with  those  fetes  of  the  skies  which  I  loved  so 
dearly.  You  want  to  transform  these  now  into  cowardly  attacks 
turned  against  the  earth.     You  horrify  me!     Do  go !  " 

With  this  I  left  my  friend  to  himself  and  his  cruel  invention, 
ashamed'  for  a  moment.  His  efforts  have  not  succeeded,  though, 
according  to  his  wishes. 

The  remains  of  the  poor  lad  were  put  into  a  small  coffin,  and 
Mme.  Guerard  and  I  followed  the  pauper's  hearse  to  the  grave. 
The  morning  was  so  cold  that  the  driver  had  to  stop  and  take  a 
glass  of  hot  wine,  as  otherwise  he  might  have  died  of  congestion. 
We  were  alone  in  the  carriage,  for  the  boy  had  been  brought  up 

188 


MORE    HOSPITAL    DAYS 

by  his  grandmother  who  could  not  walk  at  all,  and  who  knitted 
vests  and  stockings.  It' was  by  going  to  order  some  vests  and 
socks  for  my  men  that  I  had  made  the  acquaintance  of  Mere 
Tricottin,  as  she  was  called.  At  her  request  I  had  engaged  her 
grandson,  Victor  Durieux,  as  an  errand  boy,  and  the  poor  old 
woman  had  been  so  grateful  that  I  did  not  dare  go  now  to  tell 
her  of  his  death.  My  petite  dame  went  for  me  to  the  Rue  de 
Vaurigard,  where  the  old  woman  lived.  As  soon  as  Mme.  Gue- 
rard  arrived,  the  poor  grandmother  could  see  by  her  sad  face 
that  something  had  happened. 

"  Bon  Dieu!  my  dear  lady,  is  the  poor  little  maigrotte 
dead?  " 

This  was  her  name  for  me,  Mme.  Guerard  then  told  her,  as 
gently  as  possible,  the  sad  news.  The  old  woman  took  off  her 
spectacles,  looked  at  ]\Ime.  Guerard,  wiped  them  and  put  them 
on  her  nose  again.  She  then  began  to  grumble  violently  about 
her  son,  the  father  of  the  dead  boy.  Tie  had  taken  up  with  some 
low  girl,  by  whom  he  had  had  this  child,  and  she  had  always 
foreseen  that  misfortune  would  come  upon  them  through  it.  She 
continued  in  this  strain,  not  sorrowing  for  the  poor  boy,  but 
abusing  her  son,  who  was  a  soldier  in  the  Army  of  the  Loire. 
Although  the  grandmother  seemed  to  feel  so  little  grief,  I  went 
to  see  her  after  the  funeral. 

"  It  is  all  over,  Mme.  Durieux,"  I  said,  "  but  I  have  secured 
the  grave  for  a  period  of  five  years  for  the  poor  boy. ' ' 

She  turned  toward,me,  quite  comic  in  her  vexation. 

"What  madness!"  she  exclaimed;  "now  that  he's  with 
the  1)0)1  Dieu  he  won't  want  for  anything.  It  would  have  been 
better  to  have  taken  a  bit  of  laud  that  would  have  brought 
something  in.     Dead  folks  don't  make  vegetables  grow." 

This  outburst  was  so  terribly  logical  that,  in  spite  of  the 
odious  brutality  of  it,  I  yielded  to  3Iere  Tricottin'' s  desire, 
and  gave  her  the  same  present  I  had  given  to  the  boy.  They 
should  each  have  their  bit  of  land,  the  child  who  had  had 
a  right  to  a  longer  life  should  sleep  his  eternal  sleep  in 
his,  while  the  old  woman  could  wrest  from  hers  what  fruits  she 
might. 

189 


Ml.MOUTKS    OF    M\    TJFE 

T  retnnipd  to  llic  lunbnlance  sad  and  unnerved.  A  joyful 
surprise  was  awaiting  me.  A  friend  of  mine  w-a.s  there,  holding 
in  his  hand  a  very  small  piece  of  tissue  paper,  on  which  were 
the  following  two  lines  in  my  mother's  handwriting:  "  We  are 
all  very  well  and  at  llombourg."  I  was  furious  on  reading 
this.  At  llombourg!  All  my  family  at  llombourg,  settling 
down  tranquilly  in  the  enemy's  country!  I  racked  my  brains 
t'o  think  by  what  extraordinary  combination  my  mother  had 
gone  to  llombourg.  I  knew  that  my  pretty  Aunt  Rosine  had 
a  friend  there,  with  whom  she  stayed  every  year,  for  she  always 
went  for  two  months  to  llombourg,  two  months  to  Baden-Baden, 
and  a  month  to  Spa,  as  she  was  the  greatest  gambler  that  the 
hon  Dieu  ever  created.  Anyhow,  those  who  were  so  dear  to 
me  were  all  well,  and  that  was  the  principal  thing.  But  I  was 
nevertheless  annoyed  with  my  mother  for  going  to  Hombourg. 

I  heartily  thanked  the  friend  who  had  brought  me  the  little 
slip  of  paper.  It  was  sent  to  me  by  the  American  Minister, 
who  had  put  himself  to  no  end  of  trouble  in  order  to  give  help 
and  consolation  to  the  Parisians.  I  then  gave  him  a  few  lines 
for  my  mother,  in  ease  he  should  be  able  to  send  them  to  her. 

The  bombardment  of  Paris  continued.  One  night  the 
Brothers  from  the  Ecole  Chretie^ine  came  to  ask  us  for  con- 
veyances and  help,  in  order  to  collect  the  dead  on  the  Chatillon 
Plateau.  I  let  them  have  my  two  conveyances,  and  I  went  with 
them  to  the  battlefield.  Ah,  what  a  horrible  remembrance! 
It  was  like  a  scene  from  Dante!  It  was  an  icy-cold  night  and 
we  could  scarcely  get  along.  Finally,  by  the  light  of  torches 
and  lanterns  we  saw  that  we  had  arrived.  I  got  out  of  the 
vehicle  with  the  infirmary  attendant  and  his  assistant.  We 
had  to  move  slowly,  as  at  every  step  we  trod  upon  the  dying 
or  the  dead.  We  passed  along  murmuring:  ''Ambulance! 
Ambulance !  "  When  we  heard  a  groan  we  turned  our  steps 
in  the  direction  whence  it  came.  Ah,  the  first  man  that  I  found 
in  this  way!  He  was  half  lying  down,  his  body  supported  by 
a  heap  of  dead.  I  raised  my  lantern  to  look  at  his  face  and 
found  that  his  ear  and  part  of  his  jaw  had  been  blown  off. 
Great  clots  of  blood,  coagulated  by  the  cold,  hung  from  his  lower 

190 


MORE    HOSPITAL    DAYS 

jaw.  There  was  a  wild  look  in  his  eyes.  I  took  a  wisp  of 
straw,  dipped  it  in  my  flask,  drew  up  a  few  drops  of  brand}' 
and  blew  them-  into  the  poor  fellow's  mouth  between  his  teeth. 
I  repeated  this  three  or  four  times.  A  little  life  then  came  back 
to  him  and  we  took  him  away  in  one  of  the  vehicles.  The  same 
thing  was  done  for  the  others.  Some  of  them  could  drink  from 
the  flask,  which  made  our  work  shorter.  One  of  these  unfortu- 
nate men  was  frightful  to  look  at.  A  shell  had  taken  all  the 
clothes  from  the  upper  part  of  his  body,  with  the  exception 
of  two  ragged  sleeves,  which  hung  from  the  arms  at  the  shoul- 
ders. There  was  no  trace  of  a  wound,  but  his  poor  body  was 
marked  all  over  with  great  black  patches,  and  the  blood  was 
oozing  slowly  from  the  corners  of  his  mouth.  I  went  nearer 
to  him,  for  it  seemed  to  me  that  he  was  breathing.  I  had  a 
few  drops  of  the  vivifying  cordial  given  to  him,  and  he  then 
half  opened  his  eyes  and  said:  "  Thank  you."  He  was  lifted 
into  the  conveyance,  but  the  poor  fellow  died  from  a  hem- 
orrhage, covering  all  the  other  wounded  men  with  a  stream  of 
dark  blood. 

Daylight  gradually  began  to  appear,  a  misty,  dull  dawn. 
The  lanterns  had  burned  out,  but  we  could  now  distinguish  each 
other.  There  were  about  a  hundred  persons  there :  Sisters  of 
Charity,  military  and  civil  men-nurses,  the  Brothers  from  the 
Ecole  Chretien)ic,  other  priests  and  a  few  ladies  who  like  myself 
had  given  themselves  up,  heart  and  soul,  to  the  service  of  the 
wounded. 

The  sight  was  still  more  dismal  by  daylight,  for  all  that  the 
night  had  hidden  in  its  shadows  appeared  then  in  the  tardy, 
wan  light  of  that  January  morning. 

There  were  so  many  wounded  that  it  was  impossible  to  trans- 
port them  all,  and  I  sobbed  at  the  thought  of  my  helplessness. 
Other  vehicles  kept  arriving,  but  there  were  so  many  wounded, 
so  very  many.  Many  of  those  who  had  only  slight  wounds  had 
died  of  cold. 

On  returning  to  the  hospital  I  met  one  of  my  friends  at  the 
door.  He  was  a  naval  officer,  and  he  had  brought  me  a  sailor 
who  had  been  wounded  at  the  Fort  of  Ivry.     He  had  been  shot 

191 


MEMORIES    or    MV    EIFi: 

l)('low  the  ri<^ht  oyc.  He  was  entered  as  Desirt'  Bloas,  })oats\vain's 
mate,  ajjjed  twenty-seven,  lie  was  a  niaj,'ni(icent  f(.'ll(nv,  very 
frank  lookinj^,  and  a  man  of  few  words. 

As  soon  as  he  was  in  bed,  Dr.  Dnchesne  sent  for  a  barber  to 
sliave  him,  as  his  busliy  wliiskers  had  Ix-cn  ravaged  by  a  buHct 
that  had  lodged  itself  in  tlie  salivary  gland,  carrying  with  it  liair 
and  flesh  into  the  wound.  The  surgeon  took  up  his  pincers  to 
extract  the  pieces  of  flesh  wliich  had  stopped  up  the  opening  of 
the  wound.  He  then  had  to  take  some  very  fine  pincers  to  ex- 
tract the  hairs  which  were  mixed  up  inextricably  in  the  torn 
mass  of  flesli.  AVhen  the  barber  laid  his  razor  very  gently  near 
the  wound,  the  unfortunate  man  turned  livid,  and  an  oath  es- 
caped his  lips.  He  immediately  glanced  at  me  and  muttered : 
"  Pardon,  mademoiselle."  I  was  very  young,  but  I  appeared 
much  younger  than  my  age.  I  looked  like  a  very  young  girl,  in 
fact.  I  was  holding  the  poor  fellow's  hand  in  mine  and  trying 
to  comfort  him  with  the  hundreds  of  consoling  w'ords  that  spring 
from  a  woman's  heart  to  her  lips,  when  she  has  to  soothe  moral 
or  physical  suffering. 

"  Ah,  mademoiselle,"  said  poor  Bloas,  when  the  wound  was 
finally  dressed,  "  you  gave  me  courage." 

"When  he  was  more  easy  I  asked  him  if  he  would  like  some- 
thing to  eat. 

"  Yes,"  he  replied. 

* '  "Well,  my  boy,  would  you  like  cheese,  soup,  or  sweets  ?  ' ' 
asked  Mme.  Lambquin. 

"  Sweets,"  replied  the  strong,  powerful-looking  fellow, 
smiling. 

Desire  Bloas  often  talked  to  me  about  his  mother,  who  lived 
near  Brest.  He  had  a  veritable  adoration  for  this  mother,  but 
he  seemed  to  have  a  terrible  grudge  against  his  father,  for  one 
day,  when  I  asked  him  whether  his  father  was  still  living,  he 
looked  up  with  his  fearless  eyes  and  appeared  to  fix  them  on  a 
being  visible  only  to  himself,  as  though  challenging  him,  with  an 
expression  of  the  most  pitiful  contempt.  Alas,  the  brave  fellow 
was  destined  to  a  cruel  end,  but  I  will  return  to  that  later  on. 

The  sufferings  endured  through  the  siege  began  to  have  their 

192 


MORE    HOSPITAL    DAYS 

effect  on  the  "  morale  "  of  the  Parisians.  Bread  had  just  been 
rationed  out ;  there  were  to  be  three  hundred  grammes  for  adults, 
and  one  hundred  and  fifty  grammes  for  children.  A  silent  fury 
took  possession  of  the  people  at  this  news.  Women  were  the 
most  courageous,  the  men  were  excited.  Quarrels  grew  bitter, 
for  some  wanted  war  to  the  very  death,  and  others  wanted  peace. 

One  day  when  I  entered  Frantz  Mayer 's  room  to  take  him  his 
meal,  he  went  into  the  most  ridiculous  rage.  He  threw  his  piece 
of  fowl  down  on  the  ground  and  declared  that  he  would  not  eat 
anything,  nothing  more  at  all,  for  they  had  deceived  him  by 
telling  him  that  the  Parisians  had  not  enough  food  to  last  two 
days  before  surrendering,  and  he  had  been  in  the  ambulance 
seventeen  days  now,  and  was  having  fowl.  What  the  poor 
fellow  did  not  know  was  that  I  had  bought  about  forty  fowls 
and  six  geese  at  the  beginning  of  the  siege,  and  I  was  feeding 
them  up  in  my  dressing  room  in  the  Rue  de  Rome.  Oh,  my 
dressing  room  was  very  pretty  just  then,  and  I  let  Frantz  believe 
that  all  Paris  was  full  of  fowls,  ducks,  geese,  and  other  domestic 
bipeds. 

The  bombardment  continued,  and  one  night  I  had  to  have  all 
my  patients  transported  to  the  Odeon  cellars,  for  when  Mme. 
Guerard  was  helping  one  of  the  sick  men  to  get  back  into  bed  a 
shell  fell  on  the  bed  itself,  between  her  and  the  officer.  It  makes 
me  shudder  even  now  to  think  that  three  minutes  previously  the 
unfortunate  man  would  have  been  killed  as  he  lay  in  bed,  al- 
though the  shell  did  not  burst. 

We  could  not  stay  long  in  the  cellars.  The  water  was  getting 
deeper  in  them  and  rats  tormented  us.  I  therefore  decided 
that  the  ambulance  must  be  moved,  and  I  had  the  worst  of  the 
patients  taken  to  the  Val-de-Grace  Hospital.  I  kept  about 
twenty  men  who  were  on  the  way  to  convalescence.  I  rented  an 
immense  empty  flat  for  them  in  the  Rue  de  Provence,  and  it  was 
there  that  we  awaited  the  armistice. 

I  was  half  dead  with  anxiety,  as  I  had  had  no  news  from  my 
own  family  for  so  long.  I  could  not  sleep  and  had  become  the 
very  shadow  of  my  former  self. 

Jules  Favre  was  entrusted  with  the  negotiations  with  Bis- 
14  193 


MKMORTKS    OF    MV    LIFE 

niarck.  Oh.  jliosc  two  days  of  preliminaries!  They  were  the 
most  unnerving-  days  of  any  for  the  besie«;ed.  False  reports 
were  spread.  We  were  told  of  the  maddest,  and  most  exorbitant 
demands  on  the  part  of  the  Germans,  who  certainly  were  not 
tender  to  the  van(|uished. 

There  was  a  moment  of  stnpor  when  we  heard  that  we  had  to 
pay  two  hundred  million  francs  down,  for  our  finances  were  in 
such  a  pitiful  state  that  we  shuddered  at  the  idea  that  we  mitrht 
not  be  able  to  make  up  the  sum  of  two  hundred  millions  im- 
mediately. 

Baron  Alphonse  de  Rothschild,  who  was  shut  up  in  Paris 
with  his  wife  and  brothers,  gave  his  signature  for  the  two 
hundred  millions.  This  fine  deed  was  soon  forgotten,  and  there 
are  even  people  who  gainsay  it. 

When  we  heard  in  Paris  that  the  armistice  was  signed  for 
twenty  days,  a  frightful  sadness  took  possession  of  us  all,  even 
of  those  who  most  ardently  wished  for  peace. 

Every  Parisian  felt  on  his  cheek  the  hand  of  the  conqueror. 
It  was  the  brand  of  shame,  the  blow  given  by  the  abominable 
treaty  of  peace. 

Oh,  that  31st  of  January,  1871!  I  was  anaemic  from  the 
siege,  undermined  by  grief,  tortured  with  anxiety  about  my 
family,  and  I  went  out  with  Mme.  Guerard  and  two  friends 
toward  the  Pare  Monceau.  Suddenly  one  of  my  friends,  M.  De 
Plancy,  turned  pale  as  death.  I  looked  to  see  what  was  the 
matter,  and  noticed  a  soldier  passing  by.  He  had  no  weapons. 
Two  others  passed  and  they,  also,  had  no  weapons.  And  they 
were  so  pale,  too,  these  poor,  disarmed  soldiers,  these  humble 
heroes.  There  was  such  evident  grief  and  hopelessness  in  their 
very  gait ;  and  their  eyes,  as  they  looked  at  us  women,  seemed  to 
say:  "  It  is  not  our  fault!  "  It  was  all  so  pitiful,  so  touching 
I  burst  out  sobbing,  and  went  back  home  at  once,  for  I  did  not 
want  to  meet  any  more  disarmed  French  soldiers. 


194 


CHAPTER   XIII 


A   WARTIME   JOURNEY 


DECIDED  to  set  off  now  as  quickly  as  possible  in 
search  of  my  family.  I  asked  Paul  de  Remusat  to 
get  me  an  audience  with  M.  Thiers,  in  order  to  ob- 
tain from  him  a  passport  for  leaving  Paris.  I 
trusted  Mme.  Guerard  and  Mme.  Lambquin  with  disbanding  my 
anihulance. 

M.  Thiers  gave  me  the  passport,  and  I  was  ready  to  go,  but  I 
could  not  start  alone.  I  felt  that  the  journey  I  was  about  to 
undertake  was  a  very  dangerous  one,  and  M.  Thiers  and  Paul  de 
Remusat  had  also  warned  me  of  this.  I  could  see,  therefore, 
that  I  should  be  very  dependent  on  my  traveling  companion  all 
the  time,  and  on  this  account  I  decided  not  to  take  a  servant 
with  me,  but  a  friend.  I  very  naturally  went  at  once  to  Mme. 
Guerard.  Her  husband,  gentle  though  he  was,  refused  abso- 
lutely to  let  her  go  with  me,  as  he  considered  this  expedition  mad 
and  dangerous.     Mad  it  certainly  was,  and  dangerous,  too. 

I  did  not  insist,  but  I  sent  for  my  son's  governess,  Mile.  Sou- 
bise.  I  asked  her  whether  she  would  go  with  me,  and  did  not 
attempt  to  conceal  from  her  any  of  the  dangers  of  the  journey. 
She  jumped  with  joy,  and  said  she  would  be  ready  within  twelve 
hours.  This  girl  is  at  present  the  wife  of  Commandant  Monfils- 
Chesneau.  And  how  strange  life  is,  for  she  is  now  teaching  the 
two  daughters  of  my  son,  her  former  pupil. 

Mile.  Soubise  was  then  very  young,  and  she  looked  like  a 
Creole.  She  had  very  beautiful,  dark  eyes,  with  a  gentle,  timid 
expression,  and  the  voice  of  a  child.  Her  head,  however,  was 
full  of  adventure,  romance,  and  day  dreams. 

195 


MEMORIES    OE    MV    T.IFE 

In  appearance  \\v  nii^'ht  both  have  been  taken  for  quite  young 
girls,  for,  altiionjih  I  was  older  than  she  was,  my  siendcrnc^ss 
and  my  face  made  me  look  younger.  It  would  have  been  absurd 
to  try  to  take  a  trunk  with  us,  so  I  took  a  bag  for  us  both.  We 
had  only  a  change  of  linen  and  some  stockings.  I  had  my  re- 
volver, and  I  offered  one  to  Mile.  Soubise,  but  she  refused  it  with 
horror,  and  showed  me  an  enormous  pair  of  scissors  in  an  enor- 
mous case. 

"But  what  are  you  going  to  do  with  them?  "  I  asked. 

**  I  shall  kill  myself  if  we  are  attacked,"  she  replied. 

I  was  surprised  at  the  difference  in  our  characters.  I  was 
taking  a  revolver  determined  to  protect  myself  by  killing  others ; 
she  was  determined  to  protect  herself  by  killing  herself. 

On  the  24th  of  February,  we  started  on  this  journey,  which 
■was  to  have  lasted  three  days,  and  lasted  eleven.  At  the  first 
gate  at  which  I  presented  myself  in  leaving  Paris,  I  was  sent 
back  in  the  most  brutal  fashion !  Permissions  to  go  outside  the 
city  had  to  be  submitted  for  signature  at  the  German  outposts. 
I  went  to  another  gate,  but  it  was  only  at  the  postern  gate  of 
Poissonniers  that  I  could  get  my  passport  signed. 

We  were  taken  into  a  little  shed,  which  had  been  transformed 
into  an  office.  A  Prussian  general  was  seated  there.  He  looked 
me  up  and  down,  and  then  said : 

"  Are  you  Sarah  Bernhardt?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  answered. 

*  *  And  this  young  lady  is  with  you  ?  ' ' 

"  Yes." 

"  And  you  think  you  are  going  to  cross  easily?  " 

"  I  hope  so." 

"  Well,  then,  you  are  mistaken,  and  you  had  better  stay  in- 
side Paris." 

"  No,  I  want  to  leave.  I  see  myself  what  may  happen,  but 
I  want  to  leave. ' ' 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders,  called  an  officer,  said  something 
I  did  not  understand  in  German,  and  then  went  out,  leaving  us 
alone  without  our  passports. 

We  had   been  there  about  a   quarter   of  an   hour   when   I 

196 


A    WARTIME    JOURNEY 

suddenly  heard  a  voice  I  knew.  It  was  one  of  my  friends,  Rene 
Griffon,  who  had  heard  of  my  departure,  and  had  come  after  me 
to  try  to  dissuade  me.  The  trouble  he  had  taken  was  all  in  vain, 
though,  as  I  was  determined  to  leave.  The  general  returned 
soon  after,  and  Griffon  was  anxious  to  know  what  might  happen 
to  us. 

"  Everything!  "  answered  the  officer.  "  And  worse  than 
everything!  " 

Griffon  spoke  German,  and  had  a  short  colloquy  with  the 
officer  about  us.  This  rather  annoyed  me,  for  as  I  did  not  under- 
stand, I  imagined  that  he  was  urging  the  general  to  prevent  our 
starting.  I  nevertheless  resisted  all  persuasions,  supplications, 
and  even  threats.  A  few  minutes  later,  a  well-appointed  vehicle 
drew  up  at  the  door  of  the  shed. 

"  There  you  are,"  said  the  German  officer  roughly.  "  I  am 
sending  you  to  Gonesse,  where  you  will  find  the  provision  train 
which  starts  in  an  hour.  I  am  recommending  you  to  the  care  of 
the  station  master,  the  Commandant — after  that  may  God  take 
care  of  you!  " 

I  stepped  into  the  general's  carriage,  and  said  farewell  to  my 
friend,  who  was  in  despair.  We  arrived  at  Gonesse,  and  got  out 
at  the  station,  where  we  saw  a  little  group  of  people  talking  in 
low  voices.  The  coachman  made  me  a  military  salute,  refused 
what  I  wished  to  give  him,  and  drove  away  at  full  speed.  I  ad- 
vanced toward  the  group,  wondering  to  whom  I  ought  to  speak, 
when  a  friendly  voice  exclaimed:  "  What,  you  here!  Where 
have  you  come  from?  Where  are  you  going?  "  It  was  Vil- 
laret,  the  tenor  in  vogue  at  the  Opera.  He  was  going  to  his 
young  wife,  I  believe,  of  whom  he  had  had  no  news  for  five 
months.  He  introduced  one  of  his  friends,  who  was  traveling 
with  him,  and  whose  name  I  do  not  remember,  General  Pelissier's 
son,  and  a  very  old  man,  so  pale  and  so  sad-looking  and  woe- 
begone that  I  felt  sorry  for  him.  It  was  M.  Gerson,  and  he  was 
going  to  Belgium,  to  take  his  grandson  to  his  godmother's.  His 
two  sons  had  been  killed  during  this  pitiful  war.  One  of  the 
sons  was  married,  and  his  wife  had  died  of  sorrow  and  despair. 
He  was  taking  the  orphan  boy  to  his  godmother,  and  he  hoped  to 

197 


MEMOKIKS    OI'    MV     LTl'H 

(lie  himself  as  soon  as  j)ossil)lc  al'tci-wai'ds.  Ah,  llic  poor  follow, 
liis  wisli  iiiiist  have  hrvn  acooiniilishcd  vci-y  quickly,  for  ho  was 
only  lifty-iiinc  then,  and  he  was  so  cruelly  ravaj.'ed  l)y  his  prrief 
that  I  took  him  for  seventy. 

Besides  tliesc  five  persons,  there  was  an  nnhearahlc  chatterer, 
named  Theodoi-c  Joussiau,  a  wine  dealer.  He  flid  not  retjuire 
any  introduction. 

"  IIow  do  you  do,  madame !  "  he  he^an.  "  How  lucky  we 
are  that  you  are  going  to  travel  with  us!  Ah!  the  journey  will 
he  a  difificult  one.  Where  are  you  going?  Two  women  alone! 
It  is  not  at  all  prudent,  especially  as  all  the  routes  are  crowded 
with  German  and  French  sharpshooters,  marauders,  and  thieves. 
Oh,  haven't  I  demolished  some  of  those  German  sharpshooters! 
Sh — we  must  speak  quietly,  though.  These  sly  fellows  are  very 
quick  of  hearing!  ..."  He  then  pointed  to  the  German  officers 
who  w'ere  walking  up  and  down.  "  Ah,  the  rascals!  "  he  went 
on.  "  If  I  had  my  military  costume  and  my  gun  they  would 
not  walk  so  boldly  in  front  of  Theodore  Joussiau.  I  have  no  less 
than  six  helmets  at  home.  ..." 

The  man  got  on  my  nerves,  and  I  turned  my  hack  on  him  and 
looked  to  see  which  of  the  men  before  me  could  be  the  station 
master.  A  tall  young  man  with  his  arm  in  a  sling,  came 
toward  me  with  an  open  letter.  It  was  the  one  which  the 
general's  coachman  had  handed  to  him,  recommending  me  to  his 
care.  He  held  out  his  well  arm  to  me  but  I  refused  it.  He 
bowed  and  led  the  way,  and  I  followed  him,  accompanied  by 
Mile.  Soubise. 

On  arriving  in  his  office  he  gave  us  seats  at  a  little  table,  upon 
w^hich  knives  and  forks  were  placed  for  two  persons.  It  was 
then  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  and  we  had  had  nothing,  not 
even  a  drop  of  water,  since  the  evening  before.  I  was  very  much 
touched  by  this  thoughtfulness,  and  we  did  honor  to  the  very 
simple  but  refreshing  meal  prepared  for  us  by  the  young  officer. 

While  we  lunched  I  looked  at  him  when  he  was  not  noticing. 
He  was  very  young,  and  his  face  bore  traces  of  recent  suffering. 
I  felt  a  compassionate  tenderness  for  this  unfortunate  man  who 
was  crippled  for  life,  and  my  hatred  for  war  increased  still  more. 

198 


A    WARTIME    JOURNEY 

He  suddenlj'  said  to  me,  in  rather  bad  French : 

"  I  think  I  can  give  you  news  of  one  of  your  friends." 

"  What  is  his  name?  "  I  asked. 

"  Emmanuel  Bocher." 

"  Oh,  yes,  he  is  certainly  a  great  friend  of  mine.  How 
is  he?  " 

"  He  is  still  a  prisoner,  but  he  is  very  well." 

"  But  I  thought  he  had  been  released,"  I  said. 

"  Some  of  those  who  were  taken  with  him  were  released,  on 
giving  their  word  never  to  take  up  arms  against  us  again,  but  he 
refused  to  give  his  word. 

' '  Oh,  the  brave  soldier !  "  I  exclaimed,  in  spite  of  myself. 

The  young  German  looked  at  me  with  his  clear,  sad  eyes. 

' '  Yes, ' '  he  said  simply,  ' '  the  brave  soldier !  ' ' 

When  we  had  finished  our  luncheon,  I  rose  to  return  to  the 
other  travelers. 

' '  The  compartment  reserved  for  you  will  not  be  here  for  two 
hours,"  said  the  young  officer.  "  If  you  would  like  to  rest, 
ladies,  I  will  come  for  you  at  the  right  time.  He  went  away,  and 
before  long  I  was  sound  asleep.  I  was  nearly  dead  with  fatigue. 
Mile.  Soubise  touched  me  on  the  shoulder  to  rouse  me.  The  train 
was  ready  to  start,  and  the  young  officer  walked  with  me  to  it. 
I  was  a  little  amazed  when  I  saw  the  carriage  in  Mdiich  I  was  to 
travel.  It  had  no  roof,  and  was  filled  with  coal.  The  officer  had 
several  sacks  put  in,  one  on  the  top  of  the  other,  to  make  our 
seats  less  hard.  He  sent  for  his  officer's  cloak,  begging  me  to 
take  it  with  us,  and  send  it  back,  but  I  refused  this  odious  dis- 
guise most  energetically.  It  was  a  deadly  cold  day,  but  I  pre- 
ferred dying  of  cold  to  muffling  up  in  a  cloak  belonging  to  the 
enemy. 

The  whistle  was  blown,  the  wounded  officer  saluted,  and  the 
train  started.  There  were  Prussian  soldiers  in  the  carriages. 
The  subordinates,  the  employes,  and  the  soldiers  were  just  as 
brutish  and  rude  as  the  German  officers  were  polite  and 
courteous. 

The  train  stopped  without  any  plausible  reason;  it  started 
again  to  stop  again,  and  it  then  stood  still  for  an  hour  on  this 

199 


Mi:.M()I{Ii:S    OF    MY     IJI'K 

icy  cold  nipflit.  On  arriviiif,'  at  Crcil,  th('st(»k('r,tli(' cnj^inc-driver 
the  soldiers,  and  everyone  else  jj^ot  out.  I  watched  all  these  men, 
whistlinj;,  bawling  to  each  other,  spitting,  and  bursting  into 
laughter  as  they  pointed  to  us.  Were  they  not  tli<-  contjucrors 
and  we  the  conquered  1 

At  Creil  we  stayed  more  than  two  hours.  \Vc  could  hear  the 
distant  sound  of  foreign  music,  and  the  hurrahs  of  Germans  who 
were  making  merry.  All  this  hubbub  came  from  a  white  house 
about  five  hundred  yards  away.  AVe  could  distinguish  the  out- 
lines of  human  beings  locked  in  each  others'  arms,  waltzing,  and 
turning  round  and  round  in  a  giddy  revel. 

It  began  to  get  on  my  nerves,  for  it  seemed  likely  to  continue 
until  daylight.  I  got  out  with  Villaret,  intending  at  any  rate  to 
stretch  my  limbs.  We  went  toward  the  white  house,  and  then, 
as  I  did  not  want  to  tell  him  my  plan,  I  asked  him  to  wait  there 
for  me. 

Very  fortunately,  though,  for  me,  I  had  not  time  to  cross  the 
threshold  of  this  vile  lodging-house,  for  an  officer,  smoking  a 
cigarette,  was  just  coming  out  of  a  small  door.  He  spoke  to  me 
in  German. 

"  I  am  French,"  I  replied,  and  he  then  came  up  to  me,  speak- 
ing my  language,  for  they  could  all  talk  French. 

He  asked  me  what  I  was  doing  there,  and  my  nerves  were  so 
overstrung  that  I  burst  out  sobbing,  and  told  him,  through  my 
sobs,  of  our  lamentable  odyssey  since  our  departure  from 
Gonesse,  and  finally  of  our  waiting  two  hours  in  an  icy-cold  car- 
riage, while  the  stokers,  engine-drivers,  and  conductors,  were  all 
dancing  in  this  house. 

"  But  I  had  no  idea  that  there  were  passengers  in  those  car- 
riages, and  it  was  I. who  gave  permission  to  these  men  to  dance, 
and  drink.  The  guard  of  the  train  told  me  that  he  was  taking 
cattle  and  goods,  and  that  he  did  not  need  to  arrive  before  eight 
in  the  morning,  and  I  believed  him " 

'*  "Well,  monsieur,"  I  said,  "  the  only  cattle  in  the  train  will 
be  the  eight  French  passengers,  and  I  should  be  very  much 
obliged  if  you  would  give  orders  that  the  journey  should  be  con- 
tinued." 

200 


A    WARTIME    JOURNEY 

**  Make  your  mind  easy  about  that,  madame,"  he  replied. 
*'  Will  you  come  in  and  rest?  I  am  here  just  now  on  a  round  of 
inspection,  and  am  staying  for  a  few  days  in  this  inn.  You  shall 
have  a  cup  of  tea,  and  that  will  refresh  you." 

I  told  him  that  I  had  a  friend  waiting  for  me  in  the  road,  and 
a  lady  in  the  railway  carriage. 

"  But  that  makes  no  difference,"  he  said,  "  let  us  go  and 
fetch  them." 

A  few  minutes  later  we  found  poor  Villaret  seated  on  a  mile- 
stone. His  head  was  on  his  knees  and  he  was  asleep.  I  asked 
him  to  fetch  Mile.  Soubise. 

"  And  if  your  other  traveling  companions  will  come  and  take 
a  cup  of  tea,  they  will  be  welcome, ' '  said  the  officer.  I  went  back 
with  him,  and  we  entered  by  the  little  door  through  which  I  had 
seen  him  come  out.  It  was  a  fairly  large  room  which  we  en- 
tered, on  a  level  with  the  meadow ;  there  were  some  mats  on  the 
floor,  a  very  low  bed,  and  an  enormous  table,  on  which  were  two 
large  maps  of  France.  One  of  these  was  studded  over  with  pins 
and  small  flags.  There  w^as  also  a  portrait  of  the  Emperor 
William,  mounted,  and  fastened  up  with  four  pins,  and  all  this 
belonged  to  the  officer. 

On  the  chimney-piece,  under  an  enormous  glass  shade,  were  a 
bride's  wreath,  a  military  medal,  and  a  plait  of  white  hair.  On 
each  side  of  the  glass  shade  was  a  china  vase,  containing  a  branch 
of  box.  All  this,  together  with  the  table  and  the  bed,  belonged 
to  the  landlady,  who  had  given  up  her  room  to  the  officer.  There 
were  five  cane  chairs  round  the  table,  a  velvet  armchair,  and  a 
wooden  bench  covered  with  books  against  the  wall.  A  sword 
and  belt  were  lying  on  the  table,  and  two  horse  pistols. 

I  was  philosophizing  to  myself  on  all  these  heterogeneous 
objects,  when  the  others  arrived :  Mile.  Soubise,  Villaret,  young 
Gerson,  and  that  unbearable  Theodore  Joussiau.  I  hope  he  will 
forgive  me  if  he  is  living  now,  poor  man,  but  the  thought  of 
him  still  irritates  me. 

The  officer  had  some  boiling  hot  tea  brought  in  for  us,  and  it 
was  a  veritable  treat,  as  we  were  exhausted  with  hunger  and  cold. 

When  the  door  was  opened  for  the  tea  to  come  in,  Theodore 

201 


MEMORIES    OF    .\n      LI  IK 

Joussiau  caught  a  ^Hiinpsc  of  the  tlintn^'  (if  <:\v]h,  soldiers,  and 
other  pooplc. 

"  Ah,  my  Friends,"  he  cxclaiiiicd.  witli  a  hurst  of  laiij^hter, 
**  we  are  a1  liis  majesty  William's;  then-  is  a  reception  on,  and 
it's  chic — 1  eaii  tell  you  that!  .  .  ."  With  this  he  smacked  his 
tongue  twice.  Villaret  reminded  him  that  we  were  the  guests  of 
a  German,  and  that  it  was  preferable  to  be  quiet. 

"That's  enough,  that's  enough!"  he  replied,  lighting  a 
cigarette. 

A  frightful  uproar  of  oaths  and  shouts  now  took  the  place  of 
the  deafening  sound  of  the  orchestra,  and  the  incorrigible  South- 
erner half  opened  the  door, 

I  could  see  the  officer  giving  orders  to  two  subofficers  who,  in 
their  turn,  separated  the  groups,  seizing  the  stoker,  the  engine- 
driver,  and  the  other  men  belonging  to  the  train,  so  roughly  that 
I  was  sorry  for  them.  They  were  kicked  in  the  back,  they  re- 
ceived blows  Avith  the  flat  of  the  sword  on  the  shoulder,  and  a 
blow  with  the  butt  end  of  a  gun  knocked  the  guard  of  the  train 
down.  He  was  the  ugliest  brute,  though,  that  I  have  ever  seen. 
All  these  people  were  sobered  in  a  few  seconds,  and  went  back 
toward  our  carriage,  with  a  hangdog  look  and  a  threatening 
mien. 

We  followed  them,  but  I  did  not  feel  any  too  satisfied  as  to 
what  might  happen  to  us  on  the  way  with  this  queer  lot.  The 
officer  evidently  had  a  similar  idea,  for  he  ordered  one  of  the  sub- 
officers  to  accompany  us  as  far  as  Amiens.  This  subofficer  got 
into  our  carriage  and  we  set  off  again.  AYe  arrived  at  Amiens  at 
six  in  the  morning.  Daylight  had  not  yet  succeeded  in  piercing 
through  the  night  clouds.  A  fine  rain  was  falling,  which  was 
hardened  by  the  cold.  There  was  no  carriage  to  be  had  and 
not  even  a  porter.  I  wanted  to  go  to  the  Hotel  du  Cheval-Blanc, 
but  a  man  who  happened  to  be  there  said  to  me : 

"  It's  no  use,  my  little  young  lady,  there's  no  way  of  putting 
up  even  a  lath  like  you.  Go  to  the  house  over  there  with  a 
balcony;  they  can  put  some  people  up." 

With  these  words  he  turned  his  back  on  me.  Villaret  had 
gone  off  without  saying  a  word.     M.  Gerson  and  his  grandson 

202 


A    WARTIME    JOURNEY 

had  been  stowed  away  silently  in  a  covered  country  cart,  hermet- 
ically closed.  A  stont,  ruddy,  thickset  matronly  woman  was 
waiting  for  them,  but  the  coachman  looked  as  though  he  belonged 
to  nice  people.  General  Pelissier's  son,  who  had  not  uttered  a 
word  since  we  had  left  Gonesse,  had  disappeared  like  a  ball  from 
the  hands  of  a  conjurer. 

Theodore  Joussiau  politely  offered  to  accompany  us,  and  I 
was  so  weary  that  I  accepted  his  oft'er.  He  picked  up  our  bag, 
and  began  to  walk  at  full  speed,  so  that  we  had  difficulty  in  keep- 
ing up  with  him.  He  was  so  breathless  with  the  walk  that  he 
could  not  talk,  which  was  a  great  relief  to  me. 

Finally,  we  arrived  at  the  house,  and  entered,  but  my  horror 
was  great  on  seeing  that  the  hall  of  the  hotel  had  been  trans- 
formed into  a  dormitory.  We  could  scarcely  walk  between  the 
mattresses  laid  down  on  the  ground,  and  the  grumbling  of  the 
people  was  by  no  means  promising. 

When  once  we  were  in  the  office,  a  young  girl  in  mourning 
told  us  that  there  was  not  a  corner  vacant.  I  sank  down  on  a 
chair,  and  Mile.  Soubise  leaned  against  the  wall,  with  her  arms 
hanging  down,  looking  most  dejected. 

The  odious  Joussiau  then  yelled  out  that  they  could  not  let 
two  women,  as  young  as  we  were,  be  out  in  the  street  all  night. 
He  went  to  the  proprietress  of  the  hotel  and  said  something 
quietly  about  me.  I  do  not  know  what  it  was,  but  I  heard  my 
name  distinctly.  The  young  woman  in  mourning  then  looked 
at  me  with  misty  eyes.  ''  My  brother  was  a  poet,"  she  said. 
' '  He  wrote  a  very  pretty  sonnet  about  you,  after  seeing  you  play 
'  Le  Passant  '  more  than  ten  times.  He  took  me,  too,  to  see  you 
and  I  enjoyed  myself  so  much  that  night.  It  is  all  over 
though."  She  lifted  her  hands  toward  her  head  and  sobbed, 
trying  to  stifle  her  cries. 

"  It's  all  over!  "  she  repeated.  ''He  is  dead!  They  have 
killed  him  !     It  is  all  over !     All  over !  ' ' 

I  got  up,  moved  to  the  depths  of  my  being  by  this  horrible 
grief.  I  put  my  arms  round  her,  and  kissed  her,  crying  myself, 
and  whispering  to  her  words  that  soothe,  and  hopes  that  comfort. 

Lulled  by  my  words,  and  touched  by  my  sisterliness,  she 

203 


MEMORIES    OF    MV    LIFE 

uipcd  hvv  ryes,  and  taking  my  liaiid,  lid  iiic  fjently  away.  Sou- 
hisc  rollowc'd.  I  signed  to  Joussiau  in  an  aiithnritativc  way  to 
stay  where  he  was.  And  we  went  np  the  two  fli<rhts  of  stairs  of 
the  hotel,  in  silence.  At  llir  end  of  ;i  narrow  corridor  slic  (ipmrd 
a  door.  We  found  ourselves  in  rather  a  larf^e  room,  n-cking  with 
the  smell  of  tobacco  A  small  ni<,dit  lamp,  placed  on  a  little  table 
by  the  l)ed,  was  all  the  li<j:ht  in  this  larfje  room.  The  wheezing 
respiration  of  a  human  breast  disturbed  the  silence.  I  looked 
toward  the  bed,  and  by  the  faint  light  from  the  little  lamp,  I  saw 
a  man  half  seated,  propped  up  by  a  heap  of  pillows.  The  man 
was  aged-looking,  rather  than  really  old.  II is  beard  and  hair 
were  white  and  his  face  bore  traces  of  suffering.  Two  large  fur- 
rows were  formed,  from  the  eyes  to  the  corners  of  the  mouth. 
A\Tiat  tears  must  have  rolled  down  that  poor  emaciated  face ! 

The  girl  went  quietly  toward  the  bed,  signed  to  us  to  come 
inside  the  room,  and  then  shut  the  door.  We  walked  across  on 
tiptoes  to  the  far  end  of  the  room,  our  arms  stretched  out  to 
maintain  our  equilibrium.  I  sat  down  with  precaution  on  a 
large  Empire  couch,  and  Soubise  took  a  seat  beside  me.  The  man 
in  bed  half  opened  his  eyes.     "  What  is  it,  my  child?  "  he  asked. 

' '  Nothing,  father,  nothing  serious, ' '  she  replied.  ' '  I  wanted 
to  tell  you,  so  that  you  should  not  be  surprised  when  you  woke 
up,  I  have  just  given  hospitality  in  our  room  to  two  ladies  who 
are  here." 

He  turned  his  head  in  an  annoyed  w^ay,  and  tried  to  look 
at  us  at  the  end  of  the  room. 

"  The  lady  with  fair  hair,"  continued  the  girl,  "  is  Sarah 
Bernhardt,  whom  Lueien  liked  so  much,  you  remember?  " 

The  man  sat  up  and,  shading  his  ej^es  with  his  hand,  peered 
at  us.  I  went  near  to  him.  He  gazed  at  me  silently,  and  then 
made  a  gesture  with  his  hand.  His  daughter  understood  the 
gesture  and  brought  him  an  envelope  from  a  small  bureau. 
The  unhappy  father's  hands  trembled  as  he  took  it.  He  drew 
three  sheets  of  paper  out,  slowly,  and  a  photograph.  He  fixed 
his  gaze  on  me  and  then  on  the  portrait. 

"  Yes,  yes,  it  certainly  is  you,  it  certainly  is  you,"  he  mur- 
mured. 

204 


A    WARTIME    JOURNEY 

I  recognized  my  photograph,  taken  in  "  Le  Passant,"  smell- 
ing a  rose. 

"  You  see,"  said  the  poor  man,  his  eyes  veiled  by  tears, 
' '  you  were  this  child 's  idol.  These  are  the  lines  he  wrote  about 
you." 

He  then  read  me,  in  his  quavering  voice,  with  a  slight  Pi- 
cardian  accent,  a  very  pretty  sonnet. 

He  then  unfolded  a  second  paper,  on  which  some  verses  to 
Sarah  Bernhardt  were  scrawled.  The  third  paper  was  a  sort 
of  triumphant  chant,  celebrating  all  our  victories  over  the 
enemy. 

"  The  poor  fellow  still  hoped,  until  he  was  killed,"  said  the 
father,  "  and  yet  he  has  only  been  dead  five  weeks.  He  had 
three  shots  in  his  head.  The  first  shattered  his  jaw,  but  he  did 
not  fall.  He  continued  firing  on  the  scoundrels  like  a  man 
possessed.  The  second  took  his  ear  off,  and  the  third  struck 
him  in  his  right  eye.  He  fell  then,  never  to  rise  again.  His 
comrade  told  us  all  this.  He  was  twenty-two  years  old.  And 
now — it's  all  over!  " 

The  unhappy  man's  head  fell  back  on  the  heap  of  pillows. 
His  two  inert  hands  had  let  the  papers  fall,  and  great  teai-s 
rolled  down  his  pale  cheeks,  in  the  furrows  formed  by  grief. 
A  stifled  groan  burst  from  his  lips.  The  girl  had  fallen  on  her 
knees  and  buried  her  head  in  the  bedclothes,  to  deaden  the  sound 
of  her  sobs.  Soubise  and  I  were  completely  upset.  Ah,  those 
stifled  sobs,  those  deadened  groans  seemed  to  buzz  in  my  ears, 
and  I  felt  everything  giving  way  under  me.  I  stretched  my 
hands  out  into  space  and  closed  my  eyes.  Soon  there  was  a 
distant  rumbling  noise,  which  increased  and  came  nearer,  then 
yells  of  pain,  bones  knocking  against  each  other,  horses'  feet 
making  human  brains  gush  out  with  a  dull,  flabby  sound;  men 
barbed  with  iron  passed  by  like  a  destructive  whirlwind,  shout- 
ing: "  Vive  the  war!  "  And  women  on  their  knees,  with  out- 
stretched arms,  crying  out :  ' '  War  is  infamous !  In  the  name 
of  our  wombs  which  bore  you,  of  our  breasts  which  suckled  you, 
in  the  name  of  our  pain  in  childbirth,  in  the  name  of  our  an- 
guish over  your  cradles,  let  this  cease!  " 

205 


MEMORIES    or    MV    LIFE 

But  the  savaf?e  whirhviud  passed  by,  riding  over  the  women. 
I  stretched  my  arms  out  in  a  supreme  efVort  which  woke  me 
suddenly.  I  was  lying  in  the  girl's  bed.  Mile.  Soubise,  who 
was  near  me,  was  holding  my  hand.  A  man  whom  I  did  not 
know,  but  whom  some  one  called  "  doctor,"  laid  me  gently  down 
again  on  the  bed.  I  had  some  difficulty  in  collecting  my 
thoughts. 

"  How  long  have  I  been  here?  "  I  asked. 

"  Since  last  night,"  replied  the  gentle  voice  of  Soubise. 
"  You  fainted,  and  the  doctor  told  us  that  you  had  an  attack  of 
fever.  Oh,  I  have  been  very  frightened!  "  I  turned  my  face 
to  the  doctor. 

"  Yes,  dear  lady,"  he  said,  "  you  must  be  very  prudent 
still  for  the  next  forty-eight  hours,  and  then  you  can  set  out 
again.  But  you  have  had  a  great  many  shocks  for  one  with 
such  delicate  health.  You  must  be  careful."  I  took  the  draught 
that  he  w'as  holding  out  to  me,  apologized  to  the  owner  of  the 
house,  who  had  just  come  in,  and  then  turned  round  with  my 
face  to  the  wall.     I  needed  rest  so  very,  very  much. 

Two  days  later  I  left  our  sad  but  congenial  hosts.  ]\Iy  trav- 
eling companions  had  all  disappeared.  When  I  went  down- 
stairs I  kept  meeting  Prussians,  for  the  unfortunate  proprietor 
had  been  invaded  compulsorily  by  the  German  army.  He  looked 
at  each  soldier  and  at  each  officer,  trying  to  find  out  whether  he 
were  not  the  one  who  had  killed  his  poor  boy.  He  did  not  tell 
me  this,  but  it  was  my  idea.  It  seemed  to  me  that  such  was  his 
thought  and  such  the  meaning  of  his  gaze. 

In  the  vehicle  in  which  I  drove  to  the  station,  the  kind 
man  had  put  a  basket  of  food.  He  also  gave  me  a  copy  of  the 
sonnet  and  a  tracing  of  his  son's  photograph. 

I  left  the  desolate  couple  with  the  deepest  emotion,  and 
I  kissed  the  girl  on  taking  our  departure.  Soubise  and  I  did 
not  exchange  a  word  on  our  journey  to  the  station;  we  were 
both  preoccupied  with  the  same  distressing  thoughts. 


206 


CHAPTER    XIV 

HOMBOURG   AND   RETURN 

[T  the  station  we  found  that  the  Germans  were  masters 
there,  too.  I  asked  for  a  first-class  compartment  to 
ourselves,  or  for  a  coupe — ^whatever  they  liked,  pro- 
vided we  were  alone. 
I  could  not  make  myself  understood.  I  saw  a  man  oiling  the 
wheels  of  the  carriages,  who  looked  to  me  like  a  Frenchman. 
I  was  not  mistaken.  He  was  an  old  man,  who  had  been  kept  on, 
partly  out  of  charity  and  partly  because  he  knew  every  nook 
and  corner,  and  being  Alsatian,  spoke  German.  This  good  man 
took  me  to  the  booking  office  and  explained  my  wish  to  have  a 
first-class  compartment  to  myself.  The  man  who  had  charge 
of  the  ticket  office  burst  out  laughing.  There  was  neither  first 
nor  second  class,  he  said;  it  was  a  German  train,  and  I  should 
have  to  travel  like  everyone  else.  The  wheel  oiler  turned  pur- 
ple with  rage,  which  he  quickly  suppressed.  (He  had  to  keep 
his  place.  His  consumptive  wife  was  nursing  their  son,  who 
had  just  been  sent  home  from  the  hospital  with  his  leg  cut  off 
and  the  wound  not  yet  healed  up.  There  were  so  many  in  the 
hospital.  .  .  .)  All  this  he  told  me  as  he  took  me  to  the  station 
master.  The  latter  spoke  French  very  well,  but  he  was  not  at 
all  like  the  other  German  officers  I  had  met.  He  scarcely 
saluted  me,  and  when  I  expressed  my  desire  he  replied  curtly : 
''  It  is  impossible.  Two  places  shall  be  reserved  for  you  in 
the  officers '  carriage. ' ' 

"  But  that  is  what  I  want  to  avoid,"  I  exclaimed.     "  I  do 
not  want  to  travel  with  German  officers." 

"  Well,  then,  you  shall  be  put  with  German  soldiers,"  he 

207 


MEMORIES    OF    MY    LIFE 

gjrowled  angrily,  and  piiltiii^'  on  liis  hiit,  lie  went  out,  slamming 
the  door. 

I  rciiiaiiH'd  tlicfc,  aiiia/.c'd  and  confused  by  liis  insolence. 
I  turned  so  pale,  it  appears,  and  the  blue  of  my  eyes  became 
so  clear,  that  Soubise,  who  was  accpiainted  with  my  fits  of  anger, 
was  very  much  alarmed. 

"  Do  be  calm,  madame,  I  implore,"  she  said.  "  We  are 
two  women  alone  among  these  people.  If  they  liked  to  harm  ua 
they  could,  and  we  must  accomplish  the  aim  and  object  of 
our  journey,  we  must  see  little  Maurice  again." 

She  was  very  clever,  this  charming  Mile.  Soubise,  and  her 
little  speech  had  the  desired  effect.  To  see  the  child  again  was 
my  aim  and  object.  I  calmed  down  and  vowed  that  I  would 
not  allow  myself  to  get  angry  during  this  journey,  which  prom- 
ised to  be  fertile  in  incidents,  and  I  almost  kept  my  word.  I 
left  the  station  master's  office  and  found  the  poor  Alsatian 
waiting  at  the  door.  I  gave  him  a  couple  of  louis  which  he  hid 
away  quickly,  and  then  shook  my  hand  as  though  he  would 
break  it  off. 

"  You  ought  not  to  have  that  so  visible,  madame,"  he  said, 
pointing  to  the  little  bag  I  had  hanging  at  my  side.  "It  is 
very  dangerous." 

I  thanked  him,  but  did  not  pay  any  attention  to  his  advice. 
Just  as  the  train  w^as  about  to  start  we  entered  the  only  fii'st- 
elass  compartment.  There  were  two  young  German  officers 
in  it.  They  saluted,  and  I  took  this  as  a  good  omen.  The 
train  whistled,  and  I  thought  what  good  luck  we  had  had,  as 
no  one  else  would  get  in!  Well,  the  wheels  had  not  turned 
round  ten  times  when  the  door  opened  violently,  and  five  Ger- 
man officers  leaped  into  our  carriage. 

We  were  nine  then,  and  I  thought.  What  torture!  The 
station  master  waved  a  farewell  to  one  of  the  officers,  and  both 
of  them  burst  out  laughing  as  they  looked  at  us.  I  glanced 
at  the  station  master's  friend.  He  was  a  surgeon  major  and  was 
wearing  the  amhulayice  badge  on  his  sleeve.  His  wide  face 
was  congested,  and  a  ring  of  sandy,  bushy  beard  surrounded 
the  lower  part  of  it.     Two  little  bright,  light-colored  eyes  in 

208 


HOMBOURG    AND    RETURN 

perpetual  movement  lit  up  this  ruddy  face  and  gave  him  a 
sly  look.  He  was  broad  shouldered  and  thickset,  and  gave  one 
the  idea  of  having  strength  without  nerves.  The  horrid  man 
was  still  laughing  when  the  station  and  its  station  master  were 
far  away  from  us,  but  what  the  other  one  had  said  was  evi- 
dently  very  droll.  I  was  in  a  corner  seat,  with  Soubise  oppo- 
site me,  and  the  two  young  German  officers  on  the  other  side 
of  each  of  us.  They  were  both  very  gentle  and  polite,  and 
one  of  them  was  quite  delightful  in  his  youthful  charm.  The 
surgeon  major  took  off  his  helmet.  He  was  very  bald  and  had 
a  very  small,  stubborn-looking  forehead.  He  began  to  talk  in 
a  loud  voice  to  the  other  officers.  Our  two  young  bodyguards 
took  very  little  part  in  the  conversation.  Among  the  others  was 
a  tall,  affected  young  man  whom  they  addressed  as  Baron.  He 
was  slender,  very  elegant,  and  very  strong.  When  he  saw  that 
we  did  not  understand  German,  he  spoke  to  us  in  English. 
But  Soubise  was  too  timid  to  answer,  and  I  speak  English  very 
badly.  He  therefore  resigned  himself  regretfully  to  talking 
French.  He  was  agreeable,  too  agreeable;  he  certainly  had  not 
bad  manners,  but  he  was  deficient  in  tact.  I  made  him  under- 
stand this  by  turning  my  face  toward  the  scenery  we  were 
passing. 

We  were  very  much  absorbed  in  our  thoughts  and  had  been 
traveling  for  a  long  time  when  I  suddenly  felt  suffocated  by 
smoke  which  was  filling  the  carriage.  I  looked  round  and  saw 
that  the  surgeon  major  had  lighted  his  pipe  and,  with  his  eyes 
half  closed,  was  sending  up  puffs  of  smoke  to  the  ceiling.  My 
throat  was  smarting  with  it,  and  I  was  choking  with  indigna- 
tion, so  that  I  was  seized  with  a  fit  of  coughing,  which  I  ex- 
aggerated in  order  to  attract  the  attention  of  the  impolite  man. 
The  baron,  however,  slapped  him  on  the  knee  and  endeavored 
to  make  him  comprehend  that  smoke  annoyed  me.  Pie  answered 
by  an  insult  which  I  did  not  understand,  shrugged  his  shoul- 
ders, and  continued  to  smoke.  Exasperated  by  this,  I  lowered 
the  window  on  my  side.  The  intense  cold  made  itself  felt  in 
the  carriage,  but  I  preferred  that  to  the  nauseous  smoke  of  the 
pipe.  Suddenly  the  surgeon  major  got  up,  putting  his  hand 
15  209 


MEMORIES    OF    MV    TJFE 

to  his  oar.  I  tlicn  saw  that  his  car  was  filled  with  cotton  wool, 
lie  swore  like  an  ox-driver  and,  piLshiuf^  past  everyone,  and 
stepping  on  my  feet  and  on  Soubise's,  he  shut  the  window  vio- 
lently, (Mii'siiif;  and  swearinj^  all  the  time — (piite  usele.ssly,  for 
I  did  not  understand  him.  lie  went  back  to  his  seat,  continued 
his  pipe,  and  sent  out  enormous  clouds  of  smoke  in  the  most 
insolent  way.  The  baron  and  the  two  young  Germans  who 
had  been  the  first  in  the  carriage  appeared  to  ask  him  some- 
thing, and  then  to  remonstrate  with  him,  but  he  evidently  told 
them  to  mind  their  own  business  and  began  to  abuse  them. 
Very  much  calmer  myself  on  seeing  the  increasing  anger  of 
the  disagreeable  man,  and  very  much  amused  by  his  earache, 
I  again  opened  the  window.  He  got  up  again,  furious,  showed 
me  his  ear  and  his  swollen  cheek,  and  I  comprehended  the  word 
periostitis  in  the  explanation  he  gave  me  on  shutting  the  \7in- 
dow  again.  I  then  made  him  understand  that  I  had  a  weak 
chest  and  that  the  smoke  made  me  cough.  The  baron  acted 
as  my  interpreter  and  explained  this  to  him.  But  it  was  easy 
to  see  that  he  did  not  care  a  bit  about  that,  and  he  once  more 
took  up  his  favorite  attitude  and  his  pipe.  I  left  him  in  peace 
for  five  minutes,  during  which  time  he  was  able  to  imagine 
himself  triumphant  until,  with  a  sudden  jerk  of  my  elbow, 
I  broke  the  pane  of  glass.  Stupefaction  was  then  depicted  on 
the  major's  face,  and  he  became  livid.  He  got  straight  up, 
but  the  two  young  men  rose  at  the  same  time,  while  the  baron 
burst  out  laughing  in  the  most  brutal  manner.  The  surgeon 
moved  a  step  in  our  direction,  but  he  found  a  rampart  before 
him ;  another  officer  had  joined  the  two  young  men,  and  he 
was  a  strong,  hardy-looking  fellow,  just  cut  out  for  an  obstacle. 
1  do  not  know  what  he  said  to  the  surgeon  major,  but  it  was 
something  clear  and  decisive.  The  latter,  not  knowing  how 
to  expend  his  anger,  turned  on  the  baron,  who  was  still  laugh- 
ing, and  abused  him  so  violently  that  the  latter  calmed  down 
suddenly,  and  answered  in  such  a  way  that  I  quite  understood 
the  two  men  were  calling  each  other  out.  That  affected  me  but 
little.  They  might  very  well  kill  each  other,  these  two  men,  for 
they  were  equally  ill-mannered. 

210 


HOMBOURG  AND  RETURN 

The  carriage  was  now  quiet  and  icy  cold,  for  the  wind  blew 
in  wildly  through  the  broken  pane.  The  sun  had  set.  The 
sky  was  getting  cloudy.  It  was  about  half  past  five  and  we  were 
approaching  Tergnier.  The  major  had  changed  seats  with  his 
friend,  in  order  to  shelter  his  ear  as  much  as  possible.  He  kept 
moaniag  like  a  half-dead  cow. 

Su  'denly,  the  repeated  whistling  of  a  distant  locomotive 
made  us  listen  attentively.  We  then  heard  two,  three,  and  four 
petards  bursting  under  our  wheels.  We  could  perfectly  well 
feel  the  efforts  the  engine  driver  was  making  to  slacken  speed, 
but  before  he  could  succeed  we  were  thrown  against  each  other 
by  a  frightful  shock.  There  were  cracks  and  creaks,  the  hic- 
coughs of  the  locomotive  spitting  out  its  smoke  in  irregular 
fits,  desperate  cries,  shouts,  oaths,  sudden  downfalls,  a  lull,  then 
a  thick  smoke,  broken  by  the  flames  of  a  fire.  Our  carriage  was 
standing  up  like  a  horse  kicking  up  its  hind  legs.  It  was  im- 
possible to  get  our  balance  again. 

Who  was  wounded  and  who  was  not  wounded?  We  were 
nine  in  the  compartment.  For  my  part,  I  fancied  that  all 
my  bones  were  broken.  I  moved  one  leg  and  then  I  tried  the 
other.  Then,  delighted  at  finding  them  without  any  broken 
places,  I  tried  my  arms  in  the  same  way.  I  had  nothing  broken 
and  neither  had  Mile.  Soubise.  She  had  bitten  her  tongue  and 
it  was  bleeding,  and  this  had  frightened  me.  She  did  not  seem 
to  understand  anything.  The  tremendous  shaking  up  had  made 
her  dizzy,  and  she  lost  her  memory  for  some  days.  I  had  a 
rather  deep  scratch  between  my  eyes.  I  had  not  had  time 
to  stretch  out  my  arms,  and  my  forehead  had  knocked  against 
the  hilt  of  the  sword  which  the  officer  seated  by  Soubise  had 
been  holding  upright. 

Assistance  arrived  from  all  sides.  For  some  time  the  door 
of  our  compartment  could  not  be  opened.  The  darkness  had 
come  on  when  it  finally  yielded,  and  a  lantern  shone  feebly 
on  our  poor,  broken-up  carriage.  I  looked  round  for  our  one 
bag,  but  on  finding  it  I  let  it  go  immediately,  for  my  hand  was 
red  with  blood.  Whose  blood  was  it  ?  Three  men  did  not  move, 
and  one  of  them  was  the  major.     His  face  looked  to  me  livid. 

211 


MEMORIES    OF    MY    LIFE 

I  closed  my  eyes,  in  order  not  to  know,  and  I  U-t  tlic  man  who 
had  come  to  our  aid  pull  me  out  of  the  compartment.  One 
of  the  young  officers  pot  out  after  me.  He  took  Soubise,  who 
was  almost  in  a  fainting  condition,  from  his  friend.  The  im- 
becile baron  then  got  out;  his  shoulder  was  out  of  joint.  A 
doctor  came  forward  among  the  rescuers.  The  baron  held 
his  arm  out  to  him  and  told  him  to  pull  it,  which  he  did  at 
once.  The  French  doctor  took  off  the  officer's  cloak,  told  two 
of  the  railway  men  to  hold  him,  and  then,  pushing  against  him 
himself,  pulled  at  the  poor  arm.  The  baron  was  very  pale  and 
gave  a  low  whistle.  "When  the  arm  was  back  in  its  place  the 
doctor  shook  the  baron's  other  hand.  "  Cristi!  "  he  said,  "  I 
must  have  hurt  you  very  much.  You  have  a  precious  lot  of 
courage."  The  German  saluted  and  I  helped  him  on  again 
with  his  cloak. 

The  doctor  was  then  fetched  away,  and  I  saw  that  he  was 
taken  back  to  our  compartment.  I  shuddered  in  spite  of  myself. 
"We  were  now  able  to  find  out  what  had  been  the  cause  of  our 
accident.  A  locomotive  attached  to  two  vans  of  coal  had  been 
shunting,  in  order  to  get  on  to  the  siding  and  let  us  pass,  when 
one  of  the  vans  got  off  the  rails  and  the  locomotive  tired  its 
lungs  with  whistling  the  alarm,  while  men  ran  to  meet  us  scat- 
tering petards.  Everything  had  been  in  vain,  and  we  had  run 
against  the  overturned  van. 

What  were  we  to  do?  The  soft  roads  were  all  broken  up 
by  the  cannon.  We  were  about  four  miles  from  Tergnier,  and 
a  tine,  penetrating  rain  was  making  our  clothes  stick  to  our 
bodies. 

There  were  four  carriages,  but  the  wounded  had  to  be  con- 
veyed. Other  carriages  would  come,  but  there  were  the  dead 
to  be  carried  away.  An  improvised  litter  was  just  being  borne 
along  by  two  workmen.  The  major  was  lying  on  it,  so  livid 
that  I  clenched  my  hands  until  my  nails  entered  the  tlesh. 
One  of  the  officers  wanted  to  question  the  doctor  who  was  fol- 
lowing. 

"  Oh,  no!  "  I  exclaimed,  "  please,  please  do  not.  I  do  not 
want  to  know.    The  poor  fellow!  " 

212 


HOMBOURG    AND    RETURN 

I  stopped  my  ears  as  though  some  one  was  about  to  shout 
out  something  horrible  to  me,  and  I  never  knew  his  fate. 

We  were  obliged  to  resign  ourselves  to  setting  out  on  foot. 
We  went  about  two  kilometers  as  bravely  as  possible,  and  then 
I  stopped  quite  exhausted.  The  mud  which  clung  to  our  shoes 
made  them  very  heavy.  The  effort  we  had  to  make  at  every 
step  to  get  each  foot  out  of  the  dirt  tired  us  out.  I  sat  down 
on  a  milestone  and  declared  that  I  would  not  go  any  farther. 

My  companion  wept,  and  the  two  young  German  officers, 
who  had  acted  as  bodyguards,  made  a  seat  for  me  by  crossing 
their  hands,  and  we  went  nearly  another  mile  like  that.  My 
companion  could  not  walk  any  farther.  I  offered  her  my  place, 
but  she  refused  it.  "  Well,  then,  let  us  wait  here!  "  I  said,  and 
quite  at  the  end  of  our  strength,  we  rested  against  a  little 
broken  tree. 

It  was  now  night,  and  such  a  cold  night !  Huddled  close  to 
Soubise,  trying  to  keep  warm,  I  began  to  fall  asleep,  seeing 
before  my  eyes  the  wounded  men  of  Chatillon,  who  had  died 
seated  against  the  little  shrubs.  I  did  not  want  to  move  again, 
and  the  torpor  seemed  to  me  thoroughly  delicious. 

A  cart  passed  by,  however,  on  its  way  to  Tergnier.  One  of 
the  young  men  hailed  it  and,  when  the  terms  were  made,  I  felt 
myself  picked  up  from  the  ground,  lifted  into  the  vehicle  and 
carried  along  by  the  jerky,  rolling  movement  of  two  loose 
wheels  which  climbed  the  hills,  sank  into  the  mire,  and  jumped 
over  the  heaps  of  stones,  while  the  driver  whipped  up  his  beasts 
and  urged  them  on  with  his  voice.  He  had  a  "  don't  care, 
let  what  will  happen  "  way  of  driving,  which  was  quite  the 
note  of  the  times.  I  was  aware  of  all  this  in  my  semi-sleep, 
for  I  was  not  really  asleep,  but  I  did  not  want  to  answer  any 
questions.  I  gave  myself  up  to  this  prostration  of  my  whole 
being  with  a  certain  enjoyment. 

A  rough  jerk,  however,  indicated  that  we  had  arrived  at 
Tergnier.  The  cart  had  drawn  up  at  the  hotel,  and  we  had 
to  get  out.  I  pretended  to  be  still  asleep.  But  it  was  no  use, 
I  had  to  wake  up.  The  two  young  men  helped  me  up  to  my 
room. 

213 


MEMOUIKS    OF    M^■    I-IFK 

I  asked  Soubi.se  to  arrange  about  Ihc  j);iyiiu'iit  of  the  cart 
before  the  departure  of  our  excellent  youn^'  companions,  who 
were  sorry  to  leave  us.  I  signed  for  each  of  them  a  voucher, 
on  a  sheet  of  the  hotel  paper,  for  a  photograph.  Only  one  of 
them  ever  claimed  it.  This  was  six  years  later,  and  I  sent  it 
to  him. 

The  Tergnier  Hotel  could  only  give  us  one  room  between 
us.  I  let  Soubise  go  to  bed,  and  I  slept  in  an  armchair,  dressefl 
as  I  was.  The  following  morning  I  asked  about  a  train  for 
Gateau,  but  was  told  that  there  was  no  train.  We  had  to  work 
marvels  to  get  a  vehicle,  but  finally.  Dr.  Meunier,  or  Mesnier, 
agreed  to  lend  us  a  two-wheeled  conveyance.  That  was  some- 
thing, but  there  was  no  horse.  The  poor  doctor's  horse  had 
been  requisitioned  by  the  enemy,  A  wheelwright,  for  an  ex- 
orbitant price,  let  me  hire  a  colt  that  had  never  been  in  the 
shafts,  and  which  went  wild  when  the  harness  was  put  on.  The 
poor  little  beast  calmed  down  after  being  well  lashed,  but  his 
wildness  then  changed  into  stubbornness.  He  stood  still  on  his 
four  legs,  which  were  trembling  with  fury,  and  refused  to  move. 
With  his  neck  stretched  forward  toward  the  ground,  his  eye 
fixed,  and  his  nostrils  dilating,  he  would  not  budge  any  more 
than  a  stake  in  the  earth.  Two  men  then  held  the  light  carriage 
back,  the  halter  was  taken  off  the  colt's  neck,  he  shook  his  head 
for  an  instant  and,  thinking  himself  free  and  without  any  im- 
pediments, he  began  to  step  out.  The  men  were  scarcely  hold- 
ing the  vehicle.  He  gave  two  little  kicks  and  then  began  to 
trot.  It  was  only  a  very  short  trot.  A  boy  then  stopped  him, 
some  carrots  w^ere  given  to  him,  his  mane  was  stroked,  and  the 
halter  was  put  on  again.  He  stopped  suddenly,  but  the  boy, 
jumping  into  the  gig  and  holding  the  reins  lightly,  spoke  to 
him  and  encouraged  him  to  move  on.  The  colt  tried  timidly 
and,  not  feeling  any  resistance,  began  to  trot  along  for  about 
a  quarter  of  an  hour,  and  then  came  back  to  us  at  the  door 
of  the  hotel.  I  had  to  leave  a  deposit  of  four  hundred  francs 
with  the  notary  of  the  place,  in  case  the  colt  should  die. 

Ah,  what  a  journey  that  was  with  the  boy!  Soubise  and 
I  sitting  close  together  in  that  little  gig,  the  wheels  of  which 

214 


HOMBOURG    AND    RETURN 

creaked  at  every  jolt!     The  unhappy  colt  was  steaming  like 
a  p6t-au-feu  when  the  lid  is  raised.     We  started  at  eleven  in 
the  morning,  and  when  we  had  to  stop,  because  of  the  poor 
beast  who  could  not  go  any  farther,  it  was  five  in  the  afternoon 
and  we  had  not  gone  five  miles.    Oh,  that  poor  colt,  he  was  cer- 
tainly to  be  pitied!     We  were  not  very  heavy,  all  three  of  us 
together,  but  we  were  too  much  for  him.     We  were  just  a  few 
yards  away  from  a  sordid-looking  house.     I  knocked  and  an 
enormous  old  woman  opened  the  door. 
"  What  do  you  want?  "  she  asked. 
"  Hospitality  for  an  hour  and  shelter  for  our  horse." 
She  looked  out  on  the  road  and  saw  our  turnout.     *'  Hey, 
father, ' '  she  called  out  in  a  husky  voice,  ' '  come  and  look  here !  ' ' 
A  fat  man,  quite  as  fat,  but  older  than  she  was,  came  hob- 
bling heavily  along.    She  pointed  to  the  gig,  so  oddly  equipped, 
and  he  burst  out  laughing  and  said  to  me  in  an  insolent  way: 
"  Well,  what  do  you  want?  " 

I  repeated  my  phrase,  "  Hospitality  for  an  hour,  etc.,  etc." 
"  P'raps  we  can  do  it,  but  it'll  want  paying  for." 
I  showed  him  twenty  francs.     The  old  woman  gave  him  a 
nudge. 

"  Oh,  but  in  these  times,  you  know,  it's  well  worth  forty 
francs !  ' ' 

"  Very  good,"  I  said,  ''  agreed,  forty  francs." 
He  then  let  me  go  inside  the  house  with  Mile.  Soubise,  and 
sent  his  son  forward  to  the  boy,  who  was  coming  along  holding 
the  colt  by  his  mane.  He  had  taken  off  the  halter  very  con- 
siderately, and  thrown  my  rug  over  its  steaming  sides.  On 
reaching  the  house,  the  poor  beast  was  quickly  unharnessed, 
and  taken  into  a  little  inclosure,  at  the  far  end  of  which  a 
few  badly  joined  planks  served  as  a  stable  for  an  old  mule, 
which  was  aroused  by  the  fat  woman  with  kicks,  and  turned 
out  into  the  inclosure.  The  colt  took  its  place,  and  when  I 
asked  for  some  oats  for  it  she  replied:  "  P'raps  we  could  get 
it  some,  but  that  isn't  in  the  price  of  the  forty  francs." 

' '  Very  well, ' '  I  said ;  and  I  gave  our  boy  five  francs  to  fetch 
the  oats,  but  the  old  shrew  took  the  money  from  him  and  handed 

215 


mi:m()Rii:s  of  my  mfk 

it  to  her  lad,  sayirifj:  "  You  ^'o,  you  know  wlicrn  to  finrl  thrrn, 
and  come  back  quick." 

Our  boy  stayed  with  the  colt,  dryinj^  it  and  rubbing  it  down 
as  well  as  he  could.  I  went  back  to  the  house,  where  I  found 
my  charming  Soubise  with  her  sleeves  turned  up,  and  her  deli- 
cate hands  washing  two  glas.ses  and  two  plates  for  us.  I  asked 
if  it  would  be  possible  to  have  some  eggs. 

"  Yes,  but " 

I  interrupted  our  monstrous  hostess. 

*'  Don't  tire  yourself,  madame,  I  beg,"  I  said.  "  It  is  un- 
derstood that  the  forty  francs  are  your  tip  and  that  I  am  to 
pay  for  everything  else." 

She  was  confused  for  a  moment,  shaking  her  head  and  trying 
to  find  words,  but  I  asked  her  to  give  me  the  eggs.  She  brought 
me  five  eggs  and  I  began  to  prepare  my  omelette,  as  my  culinary 
glory  is  an  omelette. 

The  water  was  nauseous,  so  we  drank  cider.  I  sent  for  the 
boy  and  let  him  have  something  to  eat  in  our  presence,  for  I  was 
afraid  that  the  ogress  would  give  him  too  economical  a  meal. 

"When  I  paid  the  fabulous  bill  of  seventy-five  francs,  in- 
clusive, of  course,  of  the  forty  francs,  the  matron  put  on  her 
spectacles  and,  taking  one  of  the  gold  pieces,  looked  at  it  on 
one  side,  then  on  the  other,  made  it  ring  on  a  plate  and  then  on 
the  ground.  She  did  this  with  each  of  the  three  gold  pieces. 
I  could  not  help  laughing.  ' '  Oh,  there 's  nothing  to  laugh  at !  " 
she  grunted.  "  For  the  last  six  months  we've  had  nothing  but 
thieves  here." 

' '  And  you  know  something  about  theft !  "  I  said. 

She  looked  at  me,  trying  to  make  out  what  I  meant,  but  the 
laughing  expression  in  my  eyes  took  away  her  suspicions.  This 
was  very  fortunate,  as  they  were  people  capable  of  doing  us 
harm.  I  had  taken  the  precaution,  when  sitting  down  to  table, 
of  putting  my  revolver  near  me. 

"  You  know  how  to  fire  that?  "  asked  the  lame  man. 

*  *  Oh,  yes,  I  shoot  very  well !  "  I  answered,  but  this  was  not 
true.  Our  steed  was  then  put  in  again  in  a  few  seconds,  and 
we  proceeded  on  our  way.     The  colt  appeared  to  be  quite  joy- 

216 


homKourg  and  return 

ful.  He  stamped,  kicked  a  little,  and  began  to  go  at  a  pretty 
steady  pace.  Our  disagreeable  hosts  had  told  us  the  way  to 
St.  Quentin,  and  we  set  off,  after  our  poor  colt  had  made  at- 
tempts to  stand  still.  I  was  dead  tired  and  fell  asleep,  but 
after  about  an  hour  the  vehicle  stopped  abruptly,  and  the 
wretched  beast  began  to  snort  and  put  his  back  up,  supporting 
himself  on  his  four  stiff',  trembling  legs. 

It  had  been  a  gloomy  day,  and  a  lowering  sky  seemed  to 
be  shedding  tears  slowly  over  the  earth.  We  had  stopped  in 
the  middle  of  a  field,  which  had  been  plowed  up  all  over  by 
the  heavy  wheels  of  cannon.  The  rest  of  the  ground  had  been 
trampled  by  horses'  feet,  and  the  cold  had  hardened  the  little 
ridges  of  earth,  leaving  icicles  here  and  there  which  glittered 
dismally  in  the  thick  atmosphere. 

We  got  down  from  the  vehicle  to  try  to  discover  what  was 
making  our  little  animal  tremble  in  this  way.  I  gave  a  cry 
of  horror  for,  only  about  five  yards  away,  some  dogs  were  pull- 
ing wildly  at  a  dead  body,  half  of  which  was  still  underground. 
It  was  a  soldier  and,  fortunately,  one  of  the  enemy.  I  took  the 
whip  from  our  young  driver  and  lashed  the  horrid  animals  as 
hard  as  I  could.  They  moved  away  for  a  second,  showing  their 
teeth,  and  then  returned  to  their  voracious  and  abominable 
work,  growling  sullenly  at  us. 

Our  boy  got  down  and  led  the  snorting  pony  by  the  bridle. 
We  went  on  with  some  difficulty,  trying  to  find  the  road  in  these 
devastated  plains.  Darkness  came  over  us  and  it  was  icy  cold. 
The  moon  feebly  pushed  aside  her  veils  and  shone  over  the  land- 
scape with  a  wan,  sad  light.  I  was  half  dead  with  fright.  It 
seemed  to  me  that  the  silence  was  broken  by  cries  from  under- 
ground, and  every  little  mound  of  earth  appeared  to  me  to  be 
a  head.  Soubise  was  crying,  with  her  face  hidden  in  her  hands. 
After  going  along  for  half  an  hour,  we  saw,  in  the  distance, 
a  little  group  of  people  coming  along  carrying  lanterns,  I 
went  toward  them,  as  I  wanted  to  find  out  which  way  to  go. 
I  was  embarrassed  on  getting  nearer  to  them,  for  I  could  hear 
sobs.  I  saw  a  poor  woman,  who  was  very  corpulent,  being 
helped  along  by  a  young  priest.     The  whole  of  her  body  was 

217 


MEMORIES    OF    MV    LIFi: 

shaken  by  her  fits  ol"  ^'rid'.  She  w;is  followed  by  two  sub- 
offieers  Jiiul  by  three  othei-  persons.  I  let  her  pass  by,  and  then 
questioned  those  who  were  ioiiowinfj  her.  I  was  told  that  she 
was  loolvin*;  for  the  bodie^s  of  her  husband  and  son,  who  had 
both  been  killed  a  few  days  before  on  the  St.  Quentin  plains. 
She  eanie  each  day  at  dusk,  in  order  to  avoid  iiuiuisitive  people, 
and  she  had  not  yet  met  with  any  success.  It  was  hoped  that 
she  would  find  them  this  time,  as  one  of  these  suboflRcers,  who 
had  just  left  the  hospital,  was  takinj,'  them  to  the  spot  where 
he  had  seen  the  poor  creature's  husband  fall,  mortally  wounded. 
He  had  fallen  there  himself,  and  had  been  picked  up  by  the 
ambulance  people. 

I  thanked  these  persons,  who  told  me  the  wretched  road  we 
must  take,  the  best  one  there  was,  lay  through  this  cemetery. 

We  could  now  distinguish  groups  of  people  searching  about, 
and  it  was  all  so  horrible  that  it  made  me  want  to  scream  out. 

Suddenly,  the  boy  who  was  driving  us  pulled  my  coat  sleeve. 

"  Oh,  madame,"  he  said,  "  look  at  that  scoundrel  stealing!  " 

I  looked  and  saw  a  man  lying  down  full  length,  with  a  large 
bag  near  him.  He  had  a  dark  lantern,  Avhich  he  held  toward  the 
ground.  He  then  got  up,  looked  around  him,  for  his  outline 
could  be  seen  distinctly  on  the  horizon,  and  began  his  work  again. 

When  he  caught  sight  of  us  he  put  out  his  lamp,  and  crouched 
down  on  the  ground.  AVe  walked  on  in  silence  straight  toward 
him.  I  took  the  colt  by  the  bridle,  on  the  other  side  from  the 
boy,  who  no  doubt  imderstood  m.y  idea,  for  he  let  himself  be 
guided  by  me.  I  walked  straight  toward  the  man,  pretending 
not  to  know  he  was  there.  The  eolt  backed,  but  we  pulled  hard 
and  made  it  advance.  We  "were  so  near  to  him  that  I  shuddered 
at  the  thought  that  the  wretch  would  perhaps  allow  himself  to 
be  trampled  over  by  the  animal  and  the  light  vehicle  rather  than 
reveal  his  presence.  Fortunately,  though,  I  was  mistaken;  a 
stifled  voice  murmured : 

* '  Take  care  there !  I  am  wounded.  You  will  run  over  me. ' ' 
I  took  the  gig  lantern  down.  We  had  covered  it  with  a  jacket,  as 
the  moon  lighted  us  better,  and  I  turned  it  now  on  the  face 
of  this  wretch.     I  was  stupefied  to  see  a  man  of  from  sixty- 

218 


HOMBOURG    AND    RETURN 

five  to  seventy  years  of  age,  with  a  hollow-looking  face, 
framed  with  long,  dirty,  white  whiskers.  He  had  a  muffler  round 
his  neck,  and  was  wearing  a  peasant's  cloak  of  a  dark  color. 
Around  him,  shown  up  by  the  moon,  were  sword  belts,  brass 
buttons,  sword  hilts,  and  other  objects  that  the  infamous  old  man 
had  torn  from  the  poor  dead  men. 

' '  You  are  not  wounded.  You  are  a  thief,  and  a  violator  of 
tombs!  I  shall  call  out  and  you  will  be  killed.  Do  you  hear 
that,  you  miserable  wretch!  "  I  exclaimed,  and  went  so  near  to 
him  that  I  could  feel  his  breath  sully  mine.  He  crouched  down 
on  his  knees,  and,  clasping  his  criminal  hands,  implored  me  in  a 
trembling,  tearful  voice. 

"  Leave  your  bag  there,  then,"  I  said,  "and  all  those  things. 
Empty  your  pockets,  leave  everything  and  go.  Run,  for  as  soon 
as  you  are  out  of  sight  I  shall  call  one  of  those  soldiers  who 
are  searching,  and  I  shall  give  them  your  plunder.  I  know 
I  am  doing  wrong,  though,  in  letting  you  off  and  not  giving 
you  up." 

He  emptied  his  pockets,  groaning  all  the  time,  and  was  just 
going  away  when  the  lad  whispered:  "  He's  hiding  some  boots 
under  his  cloak."  I  was  fiu-ious  with  rage  with  this  vile  thief 
and  I  pulled  his  big  cloak  off. 

"  Leave  everything,  you  wretched  man,"  I  exclaimed,  "  or 
I  will  call  out." 

Six  pairs  of  boots,  taken  from  the  corpses,  fell  noisily  on  to 
the  hard  ground.  The  man  stooped  down  for  his  revolver, 
which  he  had  taken  out  of  his  pocket  at  the  same  time  as  the 
stolen  objects. 

"  Will  you  leave  that,  and  get  away  quickly?  "  I  said,  ''  my 
patience  is  at  an  end." 

"  But  if  I  am  caught  I  shan't  be  able  to  defend  myself,"  he 
exclaimed,  in  a  fit  of  desperate  rage. 

"  It  will  be  because  God  willed  it  so,"  I  answered.  "  Go  at 
once  or  I  will  call."  The  man  then  made  off,  abusing  me  as  he 
went. 

Our  little  driver  then  fetched  a  soldier  to  whom  I  related 
the  adventure,  showing  him  the  objects. 

219 


MKMOUIKS    or    M\    LIFi: 

"  AVhich  way  did  the  rascal  f,^)?  "  asked  a  sergeant  who  had 
come  with  the  soldier. 

"  I  can't  say,"  I  replied. 

"  Oh,  well,  I  don't  care  to  run  after  him,"  he  said,  "  there 
are  enou^di  dead  men  here." 

We  continued  our  way  until  \\v  came  to  a  place  where  several 
roads  met,  and  it  was  then  possible  for  us  to  take  a  road  a  little 
more  suitable  for  vehicles. 

After  going  through  Busigny,  and  a  wood,  where  there  were 
bogs  in  which  we  only  just  escaped  being  swallowed  up,  our 
painful  journey  came  to  an  end,  and  we  arrived  at  Cateau  in  the 
night,  half  dead  with  fatigue,  fright,  and  despair. 

I  was  obliged  to  take  a  day's  rest  there,  for  I  was  prostrate 
with  feverishness.  We  had  two  little  rooms,  roughly  white- 
washed but  quite  clean.  The  floor  was  of  red,  shiny  bricks,  and 
there  was  a  polished  wood  bed,  and  curtains  of  white  sateen. 

I  sent  for  a  doctor  for  my  nice  little  Mile.  Soubise,  who,  it 
seemed  to  me,  was  worse  than  I  was.  He  thought  we  were  both 
in  a  very  bad  state,  though.  A  nervous  feverishness  had  taken 
all  the  use  out  of  my  limbs  and  made  my  head  burn.  Soubise 
could  not  keep  still,  but  kept  seeing  specters  and  fires,  hearing 
shouts,  and  turning  round  quickly,  imagining  that  some  one  had 
touched  her  on  the  shoulder.  The  good  man  gave  us  a  soothing 
draught  to  overcome  our  fatigue,  and  the  next  day  a  very  hot 
bath  brought  back  the  suppleness  to  our  limbs.  It  was  then  six 
days  since  we  had  left  Paris,  and  it  would  take  about  twenty 
more  hours  to  reach  Hombourg,  for  in  those  days  trains  went 
much  less  quickly  than  at  present.  I  took  the  train  for  Brus- 
sels, where  I  was  counting  on  buying  a  trunk,  and  a  few  necessary 
things. 

From  Cateau  to  Brussels  there  was  no  hindrance  to  our 
journey,  and  we  were  able  to  take  the  train  again  the  same 
evening. 

I  had  replenished  our  wardrobe,  which  certainly  needed  it, 
and  we  continued  our  journey  without  much  difficulty  as  far  as 
Cologne,  although  on  passing  through  Strasbourg  I  had  a 
nervous  attack  from  sorrow  and  despair.     On  arriving  at  Co- 

220 


HOMBOURG    AND    RETURN 

logne  we  had  a  cruel  disappointment.  The  train  had  only  just 
entered  the  station,  when  a  railway  official,  passing  quickly  in 
front  of  the  carriages,  shouted  something  in  German,  which  I  did 
not  catch.  Everyone  seemed  to  be  in  a  hurry,  and  men  and 
women  pushed  each  other  without  any  courtesy.  I  addressed 
another  official  and  showed  him  our  tickets.  He  took  up  my  bag 
very  obligingly,  and  hurried  after  the  crowd.  AVe  followed,  but 
I  did  not  understand  the  excitement,  until  the  man  flung  my  bag 
into  a  compartment,  and  signed  to  me  to  get  in  as  quickly  as 
possible.  ]\Ille.  Soubise  was  already  on  the  step,  when  she  was 
pushed  aside  violently  by  a  railwaj"  porter,  who  slammed  the 
door,  and  before  I  was  fully  aAvare  of  what  had  happened,  the 
train  had  disappeared.  My  bag  had  gone  in  the  carriage,  and 
my  trunk  was  with  all  the  other  trunks,  in  a  luggage  van  that 
had  been  unhooked  from  the  train  which  had  arrived  and  fas- 
tened on  to  the  express  which  had  left.  I  began  to  cry  with 
rage.  An  official  took  pity  on  us  and  led  us  to  the  station  master. 
He  was  a  very  superior  sort  of  man,  who  spoke  French  fairly 
well.  I  sank  down  in  his  great  leather  armchair,  and  told  him 
my  misadventure,  sobbing  nervously.  He  looked  kind  and 
sympathetic.  He  immediately  telegraphed  for  my  bag  and 
trunk  to  be  given  into  the  care  of  the  station  master  at  the  first 
station.  "  You  will  have  them  again  to-morrow,  toward  mid- 
day," he  said. 

"Then  I  cannot  start  this  evening?  "  I  asked. 

"Oh,  no,  that  is  impossible,"  he  replied.  "  There  is  no 
train,  for  the  express  that  will  take  you  to  Hombourg  does  not 
start  before  to-morrow  morning. ' ' 

"  0  God,  God!  "  I  exclaimed,  and  I  was  seized  with  veri- 
table despair,  which  soon  affected  Mile.  iSoubise,  too. 

The  poor,  station  master  was  rather  embarrassed  and  tried  to 
soothe  me.     ' '  Do  you  know  anyone  here  ?  "  he  asked. 

"No,  no  one.  I  have  only  been  to  Baden-Baden.  That  was 
three  years  ago,  and  I  do  not  know  anyone  in  Cologne." 

"  Well,  then,  I  will  have  you  driven  to  the  Hotel  du  Nord. 
My  sister-in-law  has  been  there  for  two  days  and  she  will  look 
after  you." 

221 


mi:m()UIi:s  oi'  my   lifk 

Half  an  lioiir  latci"  liis  can'ia^'t'  arrived  and  lie  t()()k  ns  to  the 
II6tc4  du  Nord,  after  driving'  a  lon^  way  around  to  show  us  the 
city.  But  at  that  time  I  did  not  adrnire  anything  belonging  to 
the  Ciernians. 

On  arriving  at  the  Hotel  du  Nord,  he  introduced  us  to  his 
sister-in-law,  a  fair-haired  young  woman,  pretty,  but  too  tall  and 
too  big  for  my  taste.  I  must  say,  though,  that  she  was  very 
sweet  and  att'able.  She  engaged  two  bedrooms  for  us  near  her 
own  rooms.  She  had  a  flat  on  the  ground  floor,  and  she  invited 
us  to  dinner,  which  was  served  in  her  drawing-room.  Her 
brother-in-law  joined  us  in  the  evening.  The  charming  woman 
was  very  musical.  She  played  to  us  from  Berlioz,  Gounod,  and 
even  Auber.  I  thoroughly  appreciated  the  delicacy  of  this 
woman,  in  letting  us  hear  only  French  composers.  I  asked 
her  to  play  something  from  Mozart  and  Wagner.  At 
that  name  she  turned  to  me  and  exclaimed:  "Do  you  like 
Wagner!  " 

**  I  like  his  music,"  I  replied,  "  but  I  detest  the  man." 

Mile.  Soubise  whispered  to  me:     "  Ask  her  to  play  Liszt." 

She  overheard,  and  complied  with  infinite  graciousness.  I 
must  own  that  I  spent  a  delicious  evening  there. 

At  ten  o'clock  the  station  master  (whose  name  I  have  very 
stupidly  forgotten,  and  I  cannot  find  it  in  any  of  my  notes) 
told  me  he  would  call  for  us  at  eight  the  following  morning,  and 
then  took  leave  of  us.  I  fell  asleep,  lulled  by  Mozart,  Gounod, 
etc. 

At  eight  o'clock  the  next  morning,  a  servant  came  to  tell  me 
that  the  carriage  was  waiting  for  us.  There  was  a  gentle  knock 
at  my  door,  and  our  pretty  hostess  of  the  previous  evening  said 
sweetly:  "  Come,  you  must  start!  "  I  was  really  very  much 
touched  by  the  delicacy  of  this  pretty  German  woman. 

It  was  such  a  fine  day  that  I  asked  her  if  we  should  have  time 
to  walk  and,  on  her  reply  in  the  affirmative,  we  all  three  started 
for  the  station,  which  is  not  far  from  the  hotel.  An  engaged  car- 
riage had  been  reserved  for  us,  and  we  installed  ourselves  in  it  as 
comfortably  as  possible.  The  brother  and  sister  shook  hands 
with  us  and  wished  us  a  pleasant  journey. 

222 


HOMBOURG  AND  RETURN 

When  the  train  had  started,  I  discovered,  in  one  of  the 
corners,  a  bouquet  of  forget-me-nots  with  the  sister's  card,  and 
a  box  of  chocolates  from  the  station  master. 

I  was  at  last  about  to  arrive  at  my  goal  and  was  in  a  state  of 
wild  excitement  at  the  idea  of  seeing,  once  more,  all  my  beloved 
ones.  ]\Iy  eyes,  which  had  grown  larger  with  anxiety,  traveled 
more  rapidly  than  the  train.  I  fumed  each  time  it  stopped,  and 
envied  the  birds  I  saw  flying  along.  I  laughed  with  delight  as  I 
thought  of  the  surprised  faces  of  those  I  was  going  to  see  again, 
and  then  I  began  to  tremble  with  anxiety.  What  had  happened 
to  them?  and  should  I  find  them  all?  I  should  if  .  .  .  ah, 
those  ' '  ifs, ' '  those  ' '  becauses, ' '  and  those  ' '  buts  ' ' !  My  mind 
became  full  of  them,  they  bristled  with  illnesses,  and  accidents, 
and  I  began  to  weep.  My  poor  little  traveling  companion  began 
to  weep,  too. 

Finally,  we  came  within  sight  of  Hombourg,  Twenty  more 
minutes  of  this  turning  of  wheels  and  we  entered  the  station. 
But  just  as  though  all  the  spirites  and  devils  from  the  infernal 
regions  had  concerted  to  torture  my  patience,  we  stopped  short. 
All  heads  were  out  of  the  windows.  "What  is  it?"  "  What's 
the  matter?  "  "  Why  are  we  not  going  on?  "  There  was  a 
train  in  front  of  us  at  a  standstill,  with  a  broken  brake,  and  the 
line  had  to  be  cleared.  I  fell  back  on  my  seat,  clenching  my 
teeth  and  hands  and  looking  up  in  the  air  to  distinguish  the  evil 
spirits  which  were  so  bent  on  tormenting  me,  and  then  I 
resolutely  closed  my  eyes.  I  muttered  some  invectives  against 
the  invisible  sprites,  and  declared  that  as  I  would  not  suffer  any 
more,  I  was  now  going  to  rest.  I  then  fell  fast  asleep,  for  the 
power  of  sleeping  when  I  wish  is  a  precious  gift  which  God  has 
bestowed  on  me.  In  the  most  frightful  circumstances  and  the 
most  cruel  moments  of  life,  when  I  have  felt  that  my  reason  was 
giving  way  under  shocks  that  have  been  too  great  or  too  painful, 
my  will  has  laid  hold  of  my  reason,  just  as  one  holds  a  bad- 
tempered  little  dog  that  wants  to  bite,  and  subjugating  it,  my 
will  has  said  to  my  reason:  ''  Enough,  you  can  take  up  again 
to-morrow  your  suffering  and  your  plans,  your  anxiety,  your 
sorrow  and  your  anguish.     You  have  had  enough  for  to-day. 

223 


MEMORIES    OE    MV     LIEE 

You  would  ^'ivi'  way  alto^ctlu'i-  uiulcr  the  weif^lit  of  so  many 
tr()ul)l('s,  jiucl  you  would  draj^  me  aloiij^  with  you.  I  will  not 
have  it!  We  will  forget  everything  for  a  wiiilc  and  tio  to 
sleep  together!  "  And  I  have  gone  to  sleep.  This  is  abso- 
lutely true. 

j\Ille.  Soubise  roused  me  as  soon  as  the  train  had  really  ar- 
rived. I  was  refreshed  and  calmer.  A  minute  later  we  were  in 
a  carriage,  and  had  given  the  address:  7  Obere  Strasse. 

We  were  soon  there,  and  I  found  all  my  adored  ones,  big  and 
little,  and  they  were  all  very  well.  Oh,  what  happiness  it  was! 
The  blood  pulsed  in  all  my  arteries.  I  had  suffered  so  much 
that  I  burst  out  into  delicious  sobs. 

AVho  can  ever  describe  the  infinite  pleasure  of  tears  of  joy ! 
During  the  next  two  days  the  maddest  things  occurred,  which  I 
will  not  relate,  so  incredible  would  they  sound.  Among  others, 
fire  broke  out  in  the  house ;  we  had  to  escape  in  our  night  clothes, 
camp  out  for  six  hours  in  five  feet  of  snow,  etc.,  etc.,  but  everyone 
was  safe  and  sound. 

AVe  then  set  out  for  Paris,  but  on  arriving  at  St.  Denis  there 
were  no  more  trains.  It  was  four  o'clock  in  the  morning.  The 
Germans  were  masters  of  all  the  suburbs  of  Paris  and  the  trains 
ran  only  for  their  service.  After  an  hour  spent  in  running  about, 
in  discussions  and  rebuff's,  I  found  an  officer  of  higher  rank,  who 
was  better  educated  and  more  agreeable.  He  had  a  locomotive 
prepared  to  take  me  to  the  Gare  du  Havre. 

The  journey  was  very  amusing.  My  mother,  my  aunt,  my 
sister  Regina,  Mile.  Soubise,  the  two  maids,  the  children,  and  I 
all  squeezed  into  a  little  square  space,  in  which  there  was  a  very 
small,  narrow  bench,  which  I  think  was  the  place  for  the  signal- 
man in  those  days.  The  engine  went  very  slowly,  as  the  rails 
were  frequently  obstructed  by  carts  or  railway  carriages. 

AVe  left  at  five  in  the  morning  and  reached  the  Gare  du 
Havre  at  seven.  At  a  place  which  I  cannot  locate,  our  German 
conductors  were  exchanged  for  French.  I  questioned  them  and 
learned  that  Paris  was  just  then  disturbed  by  revolutionary 
movements. 

The  stoker  with  whom  I  was  talking  was  a  very  intelligent 

224 


HOMBOURG    AND    RETURN 

and  very  advanced  individual.  "  You  would  do  better  to  go 
somewhere  else,  and  not  to  Paris, ' '  lie  said,  ' '  for  before  long  they 
will  come  to  blows  there." 

We  had  arrived  by  this  time,  but  at  this  hour,  as  no  train  was 
expected  in,  it  was  impossible  to  find  a  carriage.  I  got  down 
with  my  tribe  from  the  locomotive,  to  the  great  amazement  of 
the  station  officials. 

I  was  no  longer  very  rich,  but  I  offered  twenty  francs  to  one 
of  the  men  if  he  would  see  to  our  six  bags.  We  were  to  send 
for  my  trunk  and  those  belonging  to  my  family  later  on. 

There  was  not  a  single  carriage  outside  the  station.  What 
was  to  be  done?  I  was  then  living  at  No.  4  Rue  de  Rome,  and 
this  was  not  far  away,  but  my  mother  scarcely  ever  walked,  for 
she  was  delicate  and  had  a  weak  heart.  The  children,  too,  were 
very,  very  tired.  Their  eyes  were  puffed  up  and  scarcely  open, 
and  their  little  limbs  benumbed  by  the  cold  and  the  sitting  still. 
I  began  to  get  desperate,  but  a  milk  cart  was  just  passing  by, 
and  I  sent  the  porter  to  hail  it.  I  offered  twenty  francs  if  the 
man  would  drive  my  mother  and  the  two  children  to  4  Rue 
de  Rome. 

"  And  you,  too,  if  you  like,  young  lady,"  said  the  milkman. 
"  You  are  thinner  than  a  grasshopper,  you  won't  make  it  any 
heavier."  I  did  not  want  inviting  twice,  although  rather  an- 
noyed by  the  man's  speech. 

When  once  my  mother  was  installed,  in  spite  of  her  hesita- 
tion, by  the  side  of  the  milkman,  and  the  children  and  I  were 
in  among  the  full  and  empty  milk  pails,  I  said  to  the  man : 
"  Would  it  be  all  the  same  to  you  to  come  back  and  fetch  the 
others?  "  I  pointed  to  the  remaining  group,  and  added:  "  You 
shall  have  twenty  francs  more." 

' '  Right  you  are !  ' '  said  the  worthy  fellow.  ' '  A  good  day 's 
work!  Don't  you  tire  your  legs,  you  others.  I'll  be  back  for 
you  directly !  ' ' 

He  then  whipped  up  his  horse  and  took  us  off  at  a  wild  rate. 
The  children  rolled  about  and  I  held  on.     My  mother  set  her 
teeth  and  did  not  utter  a  word,  but  from  under  her  long  lashes 
she  glanced  at  me  with  a  displeased  look. 
16  225 


MEMOUIKS    OF    MV    LIFE 

On  urriviiiK  at  my  door  the  milkiiuui  drew  up  his  horse  so 
short  that  I  thought  my  mother  would  fall  out  on  to  the  ani- 
mal's back.  We  had  arrived,  though,  and  we  got  out.  The 
cart  started  off  again  at  full  speed.  My  mother  would  not 
speak  to  me  for  about  an  hour.  Poor,  pretty  mother,  it  was 
not  my  fault  after  all. 


226 


CHAPTER    XV 

THE    COMMUNE   AND   VICTOR   HUGO 

HAD  gone  away  from  Paris  eleven  days  before,  and 
liad  then  left  a  sad  city.  The  sadness  had  been  pain- 
ful, the  result  of  a  great  misfortune  which  had  been 
unexpected.  No  one  had  dared  to  look  up,  fearing 
to  be  blown  upon  by  the  same  wind  which  was  blowing  the 
German  flag  floating  over  yonder  beyond  the  Arc  de  Triomphe. 
I  found  Paris  now  efl'ervescent  and  grumbling.  The  walls 
were  placarded  with  many-colored  posters,  and  all  these  posters 
contained  the  wildest  harangues.  Fine,  noble  ideas  were  side 
by  side  with  absurd  threats.  Workmen,  on  their  way  to  their 
daily  toil,  stopped  in  front  of  these  bills.  One  would  read  aloud, 
and  the  gathering  crowd  would  begin  the  reading  over  again. 
And  all  these  human  beings,  who  had  just  been  suffering  so 
much  through  this  abominable  war,  now  echoed  these  appeals 
for  vengeance.  They  were  very  much  to  be  excused.  This  war, 
alas !  had  hollowed  out  under  their  very  feet  a  gulf  of  ruin  and 
of  mourning.  Poverty  had  brought  the  women  to  rags,  the 
privations  of  the  siege  had  lowered  the  vitality  of  the  children, 
and  the  shame  of  the  defeat  had  discouraged  the  men.  Well, 
these  appeals  to  rebellion,  these  anarchist  shouts,  these  yells  from 
the  crowd,  shrieking :  ' '  Down  with  thrones !  Down  with  the 
Republic !  Down  with  the  rich !  Down  with  the  priests !  Down 
with  the  Jews !  Down  with  the  army !  Down  with  the  masters ! 
Down  with  those  who  work!  Down  with  everything!  " — all 
these  cries  roused  the  benumbed  hearers.  The  Germans,  who 
fomented  all  these  riots,  rendered  us  a  real  service  without  in- 

227 


MEMORIES    OF    MY    LIFE 

tending  it.  Those  who  had  given  themselves  up  to  resignation 
were  stirred  out  of  their  torpor.  Others,  who  were  asking  for 
"  revenge,"  found  an  aliment  for  their  inactive  forces.  None  of 
them  agreed.  There  were  ten  or  twenty  different  parties,  de- 
vouring each  other  and  threatening  each  other.     It  wfus  terrible! 

But  it  was  the  awakening.  It  was  life  after  death.  I  had 
among  my  friends  about  ten  of  the  leaders  of  different  opin- 
ions, and  all  of  them  interested  me,  the  maddest  and  the  wisest 
of  them.  I  often  saw  Gambetta  at  Girardin's,  and  it  was  a 
joy  to  me  to  listen  to  this  admirable  man.  What  he  said  was 
so  wise,  so  well  balanced  and  so  captivating!  This  man  with 
his  heavy  stomach,  his  short  arms,  and  huge  head,  had  a  halo 
of  beauty  round  him  when  he  spoke.  And  he  was  never  com- 
mon, never  ordinary.  He  took  snuff,  and  the  gesture  of  his 
hand  w^hen  he  brushed  away  the  stray  grains,  was  full  of  grace. 
He  smoked  huge  cigars,  but  could  smoke  them  without  annoy- 
ing anyone.  "When  he  was  tired  of  politics  and  talked  litera- 
ture, it  was  a  rare  charm,  for  he  knew  everything  and  quoted 
poetry  admirably.  One  evening,  after  dinner  at  Girardin's, 
we  played  together  the  whole  of  the  scene  in  the  first  act  be- 
tween Hernani  and  Dona  Sol.  He  was  not  handsome,  like 
Mounet-Sully,  but  he  was  just  as  admirable  in  it. 

Another  time  he  recited  the  whole  of  "  Ruth  and  Boaz." 
But  I  preferred  his  political  discussions  to  all  that,  especially 
when  he  criticised  the  speech  of  some  one  whose  opinion  was 
opposed  to  his  own.  The  eminent  qualities  of  this  politician's 
talent  were  logic  and  balance,  and  his  seductive  force  was 
chauvinism.  The  obscure  death  of  so  great  a  thinker  is  a  dis- 
concerting challenge  flung  at  human  pride. 

I  sometimes  saw  Rochefort,  whose  wit  delighted  me.  I  was 
not  at  ease  with  him,  though,  for  he  was  the  cause  of  the  fall 
of  the  Empire,  and,  although  I  am  very  Republican,  I  liked  the 
Emperor,  Napoleon  III.  He  had  been  too  trustful,  but  very 
unfortunate,  and  it  seemed  to  me  that  Rochefort  insulted  him 
too  much  after  his  misfortune. 

I  also  frequently  saw  Paul  de  Remusat,  the  favorite  of  Thiers. 
He  had  great  refinement  of  mind,  broad  ideas,  and  fascinating 

228 


THE    COMMUNE    AND    VICTOR    HUGO 

manners.  Some  people  accused  him  of  Orleanism.  He  was  a 
Republican,  and  a  much  more  advanced  Republican  than  Thiers, 
Anyone  must  have  known  him  very  little  to  believe  him  any- 
thing else  but  what  he  said  he  was.  Paul  de  Remusat  had  a 
horror  of  untruth.  He  was  sensitive,  and  had  a  very  straight- 
forward, strong  character.  He  took  no  active  part  in  politics, 
except  in  private  circles;  and  his  advice  always  prevailed,  even 
in  the  Chamber  and  in  the  Senate.  He  would  never  speak  ex- 
cept in  the  office.  The  Ministry  of  Fine  Arts  was  offered  to 
him  a  hundred  times,  but  he  repeatedly  refused  it.  Finally, 
after  my  repeated  entreaties,  he  almost  allowed  himself  to  be 
appointed  Minister  of  Fine  Arts,  but  at  the  last  moment  he 
declined,  and  wrote  me  a  delicious  letter,  from  which  I  quote 
a  few  passages.  As  the  letter  was  not  written  for  publication, 
I  do  not  consider  that  I  have  a  right  to  give  the  whole  of  it, 
but  there  seems  to  be  no  harm  in  publishing  these  few  lines : 

Allow  me,  my  charming  friend,  to  remain  in  the  shade.  I  can  see 
better  there  than  in  the  dazzling  brilliancy  of  men.  You  are  grateful  to  me, 
sometimes,  for  being  attentive  to  the  miseries  you  point  out  to  me.  Let  me 
keep  my  independence.  It  is  more  agreeable  to  me  to  have  the  right  to 
relieve  everyone  than  to  be  obliged  to  relieve  no  matter  whom.  ...  In 
matters  of  art,  I  have  made  for  myself  an  ideal  of  beauty  -which  would 
naturally  seem  too  partial.  .  .  . 

It  is  a  great  pity  that  the  scruples  of  this  delicate-minded 
man  did  not  allow  him  to  accept  this  office.  The  reforms  that 
he  pointed  out  to  me  were,  and  still  are,  very  necessary  ones. 
However,  that  cannot  be  helped. 

I  also  knew,  and  frequently  saw,  a  great,  foolish  fellow  full 
of  dreams  and  Utopian  follies.  His  name  was  Flourens,  and 
he  was  tall  and  nice  looking.  He  wanted  everyone  to  be  happy 
and  everyone  to  have  money,  and  he  shot  down  the  soldiers 
without  reflecting  that  he  was  commencing  by  making  one  or 
more  of  them  unhappy.  Reasoning  with  him  was  impossible, 
but  he  was  charming  and  brave.  I  saw  him  two  days  before 
his  death.  He  came  to  see  me  with  a  very  young  girl,  who 
wanted  to  devote  herself  to  dramatic  art.  I  promised  him  to  help 

229 


MEMOUIES    OF    MY    JAVK 

licr.  Two  (lays  later  the  poor  child  cjinii'  to  toll  nic  of  the 
heroic  (h'ath  of  Flourens.  He  had  i-efused  to  surrender,  and, 
sti-etchinjj:  out  liis  arms,  and  shouted  to  tlie  hesitating'  soldiers: 
"  Shoot!  shoot!  I  would  not  have  spared  you!  "  And  lie  had 
then  fallen  under  the  bullets. 

Another  nuin,  not  so  interestin<r,  wiioin  I  looked  uf)on  as 
a  dangerous  madman,  was  a  certain  Raoul  Rigault.  For  a 
short  time  he  was  Prefect  of  Police.  He  was  very  young  and 
very  daring,  wildly  ambitious,  determined  to  do  anything  to 
succeed,  and  it  seemed  to  him  more  easy  to  do  harm  than  good. 
That  man  wa.s  a  real  danger.  He  belonged  to  that  band  of 
students  who  used  to  send  me  verses  every  day.  I  came  across 
them  everywhere,  enthusiastic  and  mad.  They  had  been  nick- 
named in  Paris  "  the  drivelers."  One  day  he  brought  me  a 
little  one-act  play.  This  piece  was  so  stupid  and  the  verses  so 
insipid  that  I  sent  it  back  to  him  with  a  few  words,  which  he 
no  doubt  considered  unkind,  for  he  bore  me  malice  for  them 
and  attempted  to  avenge  himself  in  the  following  way.  He 
called  on  me  one  day.  Mme.  Guerard  was  there  when  he  was 
shown  in. 

"  Do  you  know-  that  I  am  all-powerful  at  present?  "  he  said. 

"  In  these  days  there  is  nothing  surprising  in  that,"  I  re- 
plied. 

"  I  have  come  to  see  you,  either  to  make  peace  or  declare 
war,"  he  continued. 

This  w^ay  of  talking  did  not  suit  me,  and  I  sprang  up.  "  As 
I  can  foresee  that  your  conditions  of  peace  would  not  suit 
me,  cJier  monsieur,  I  will  not  give  you  time  to  declare  war. 
You  are  one  of  the  men  one  would  prefer,  no  matter  how  spite- 
ful they  might  be,  to  have  for  enemies,  rather  than  for  friends. ' ' 
With  these  words  I  rang  for  my  footman  to  show  the  Prefect 
of  Police  to  the  door. 

Mme.  Guerard  was  in  despair.  "  That  man  will  do  us  some 
harm,  my  dear  Sarah,  I  assure  you,"  she  said. 

She  was  not  mistaken  in  her  presentiment,  except  that  she 
was  thinking  of  me  and  not  of  herself,  for  his  first  vengeance 
was  taken  on  her,  by  sending  away  one  of  her  relatives,  who 

230 


THE    COMMUNE    AND    VICTOR    HUGO 

was  a  police  commissioner,  to  an  inferior  and  dangerous  post. 
He  then  began  to  invent  a  hundred  miseries  for  me.  One  day 
I  received  an  order  to  go  at  once  to  the  Prefecture  of  Police, 
on  urgent  business.  I  took  no  notice.  The  following  day  a 
mounted  courier  brought  me  a  note  from  Sire  Raoul  Rigault, 
threatening  to  send  a  prison  van  for  me.  I  took  no  notice  what- 
ever of  the  threats  of  this  wretch,  who  was  shot  shortly  after, 
and  died  without  showing  any  courage. 

Life,  however,  was  no  longer  possible  in  Paris,  and  I  decided 
to  go  to  St.  Germain  en  Laye.  I  asked  my  mother  to  go  with 
me,  but  she  went  to  Switzerland  with  my  youngest  sister. 

The  departure  from  Paris  was  not  as  easy  as  I  had  hoped. 
Communists,  with  gun  on  shoulder,  stopped  the  trains  and 
searched  in  all  our  bags  and  pockets,  and  even  under  the  cush- 
ions of  the  railway  carriages.  They  were  afraid  that  the  pas- 
sengers were  taking  newspapers  to  Versailles.  This  was  mon- 
strously stupid. 

The  installation  at  St.  Germain  was  not  easy.  Nearly  all 
Paris  had  taken  refuge  in  this  little  place,  which  is  as  pretty 
as  it  is  dull.  From  the  height  of  the  terrace,  where  the  crowd 
remained  morning  and  night,  we  could  see  the  alarming  prog- 
ress of  the  Commune.  On  all  sides  of  Paris  the  flames  rose, 
proud  and  destructive.  The  wind  often  brought  us  burnt  pa- 
pers, which  we  took  to  the  Council  House.  The  Seine  brought 
(juantities  along  with  it,  and  the  boatmen  collected  these  in  sacks. 
Some  days — and  these  were  the  most  distressing  of  any — an 
opaque  veil  of  smoke  enveloped  Paris.  There  was  no  breeze  to 
allow  the  flames  to  pierce  through.  The  city  then  burned 
stealthily,  without  our  anxious  eyes  being  able  to  discover  what 
fresh  homes  these  furious  madmen  had  set  alight. 

I  went  for  a  ride  every  day  in  the  forest.  Sometimes  I 
would  go  as  far  as  Versailles,  but  this  was  not  without  danger. 
We  often  came  across  poor  starving  wretches  in  the  forest, 
whom  we  joyfully  helped,  but  often,  too,  there  were  prisoners 
who  had  escaped  from  Poissy,  or  Communist  sharp  shooters 
trying  to  shoot  a  Versailles  soldier.  One  day  on  the  way  back 
from  Triel,  M^here  Captain   O'Connor  and   I   had   been   for  a 

231 


MEMORIES    OF    MV    LIFE 

gallop  over  all  the  hills,  we  entered  the  forest  rather  late  in  the 
evening,  as  it  was  a  shorter  way.  A  shot  was  fired  fi-oin  a 
neighboring  thicket,  which  made  my  horse  bound  so  sharply 
toward  the  left  that  I  was  thrown.  Fortunately  my  horse  was 
quiet.  O'Connor  hurried  to  me,  but  I  was  already  up  and 
ready  to  mount  again.  "  Just  a  second,"  he  said,  "  I  want 
to  search  that  thicket."  With  a  short  gallop  he  was  soon  at 
the  spot,  and  I  then  heard  a  shot,  some  branches  breaking  un- 
der flying  feet,  then  another  shot,  not  at  all  like  the  two  former 
ones,  and  my  friend  appeared  again  with  a  pistol  in  his  hand. 

*'  It  has  not  touched  you?  "  I  asked. 

**  Yes,  the  first  shot  just  touched  my  leg,  but  the  fellow 
aimed  too  low.  The  second  he  fired  haphazard.  I  fancy,  though, 
that  he  has  a  bullet  from  my  revolver  in  his  body." 

"  But  I  heard  some  one  running  away,"  I  said. 

"  Oh,"  replied  the  elegant  captain,  chuckling,  "  he  will 
not  go  far!  " 

' '  Poor  wretch !  "  I  murmured. 

"  Oh,  no!  "  exclaimed  O'Connor,  **  do  not  pity  them,  I  beg. 
They  kill  numbers  of  our  men  every  day;  only  yesterday  five 
soldiers  from  my  regiment  were  found  on  the  Versailles  road, 
not  only  killed,  but  mutilated,"  and,  gnashing  his  teeth,  he  fin- 
ished his  sentence  with  an  oath. 

I  turned  toward  him  rather  surprised,  but  he  took  no  no- 
tice. We  continued  our  way,  riding  as  quickly  as  the  obstacles 
in  the  forest  would  allow  us.  All  at  once,  our  horses  stopped 
short,  snorting  and  sniffing.  O'Connor  took  his  revolver  in  his 
hand,  got  off  and  led  his  horse.  A  few  yards  from  us  there  was 
a  man  lying  on  the  ground.  "  That  must  be  my  wretch  of 
just  now,"  said  my  companion  and,  bending  down  over  the 
man,  he  spoke  to  him.  A  moan  was  the  only  reply.  O'Connor 
had  not  seen  his  man,  so  he  could  not  have  recognized  him. 
He  lighted  a  match,  and  we  saw  that  this  one  had  no  gun.  I 
had  dismounted  and  was  trying  to  raise  the  unfortunate  man's 
head,  but  I  withdrew  my  hand  covered  with  blood.  He  had 
opened  his  eyes  and  fixed  them  on  O'Connor. 

**  Ah,  it's  you,  Versailles  dog!  "  he  said.    "  It  was  you  who 

232 


SARAH    BERNHARDT    IN    RIDING    HABIT. 


THE    COMMUNE    AND    VICTOR    HUGO 

shot  me!  I  missed  you,  but — "  He  tried  to  pull  out  the  re- 
volver from  his  belt,  but  the  effort  was  too  great,  and  his  hand 
fell  down  inert.  O'Connor,  on  his  side,  had  cocked  his  re- 
volver, but  I  placed  myself  in  front  of  the  man  and  besought 
him  to  leave  the  poor  fellow  in  peace.  I  could  scarcely  recognize 
my  friend,  for  this  nice-looking,  fair-haired  man,  so  correct, 
rather  a  snob,  but  very  charming,  seemed  to  have  turned  into 
a  brute.  Leaning  forward  toward  the  unfortunate  man,  his 
under  jaw  advancing,  he  was  muttering  under  his  teeth  some 
inarticulate  words;  his  clenched  hand  seemed  to  be  grasping 
his  anger,  just  as  one  does  an  anonymous  letter,  before  flinging 
it  away  in  disgust. 

''  O'Connor,  let  this  man  alone,  please!  "  I  said. 

He  was  as  gallant  a  man  as  he  was  a  good  soldier.  He  gave 
way  and  seemed  to  become  aware  of  the  situation  again. 
' '  Good !  ' '  he  said,  helping  me  to  mount  once  more.  ' '  When  I 
have  taken  you  back  to  your  hotel,  I  will  come  back  with  some 
men  to  pick  up  this  wretch."  Half  an  hour  later  we  were  back 
home,  without  having  exchanged  another  word  during  our  ride. 

I  kept  up  my  friendship  with  O'Connor,  but  I  could  never 
see  him  again  without  thinking  of  that  scene.  Suddenly,  when 
he  was  talking  to  me,  the  brutelike  mask,  under  which  I  had 
seen  him  for  a  second,  would  fix  itself  again  over  his  laughing 
face.  Quite  recently,  in  March,  1905,  General  O'Connor,  who 
was  commanding  in  Algeria,  came  to  see  me  one  evening  in 
my  dressing-room  at  the  theater.  He  told  me  about  his  diffi- 
culties with  some  of  the  great  Arab  chiefs. 

"  I  fancy,"  he  said,  laughing,  "  that  we  shall  have  to  have 
a  brush  together." 

The  captain's  mask,  for  me,  then  fixed  itself  on  the  general's 
face.    I  never  saw  him  again,  for  he  died  six  months  afterwards. 

We  were  at  last  able  to  go  back  to  Paris.  The  abominable 
and  shameful  peace  iiad  been  signed,  the  wretched  Commune 
crushed.  Everything  was  supposed  to  be  in  order  again.  But 
what  blood  and  ashes!  what  women  in  mourning!  what  ruins! 

The  bitter  odor  of  smoke  was  what  we  inhaled  in  Paris. 
All  that  I  touched  at  home  left  on  my   fingers  a  somewhat 

233 


MEMORIES    OF    MY    LIFE 

greasy  and  ;ilin<tst  iniperceptihic  color-.  A  ^'cncrjil  uneasiness 
beset  Frwiicc,  atid  more  especially  Paris.  The  theatiM's,  however, 
opened  their  doors  once  more,  and  that  was  a  ^'eneral  relief. 

One  iiioniin;^'  I  reeeive(|  rtdin  llic  Odeoti  a  notice;  of  rehear- 
sal, I  shook  out  my  hair,  stairi{)ed  my  I'eet,  and  sniffed  the  air 
like  a  young  horse  snorting.  The  race  gi-ound  was  to  be  opened 
for  us  again.  We  should  be  able  to  gallop  afresh  through  our 
dreams.  The  lists  w^re  open.  The  contest  was  Ix'ginning.  Life 
was  conuuencing  again.  It  is  truly  strange  that  man's  mind 
'should  have  made  of  life  a  perpetual  strife.  When  there  is 
no  longer  War  there  is  Battle,  for  there  are  a  hundred  thousand 
of  us  for  the  same  object.  God  has  created  the  earth  and  man 
for  each  other.  The  earth  is  vast.  What  ground  tliere  is  un- 
cultivated! Miles  upon  miles,  acres  upon  acres  of  new  land, 
waiting  for  arms  that  will  take  from  its  bosom  the  treasures 
of  inexhaustible  nature.  And  we  remain  grouped  round  each 
other ;  crowds  of  famishing  people  watching  other  groups,  which 
are  also  lying  in  wait. 

The  Odeon  opened  its  doors  to  the  public,  offering  them  its 
repertory.  Some  new  pieces  w-ere  given  us  to  study.  One  of 
these,  more  particularly,  had  great  success.  It  was  Andre 
Theuriet's  "  Jean-Marie,"  and  was  given  in  October,  1871. 
This  little  one-act  play  is  a  veritable  masterpiece,  and  it  took 
its  author  straight  to  the  Academy.  Porel,  w^ho  played  the  part 
of  Jean-Marie,  had  huge  success.  He  was  at  that  time  slender, 
nimble,  and  full  of  youthful  ardor.  He  needed  a  little  more 
poetry,  but  the  joyous  laughter  of  his  thirty-two  teeth  made 
up  in  ardor  for  what  was  wanting  in  poetic  desire.  It  was 
very  good,  anyhoAV. 

My  role  of  the  young  Breton  girl,  submissive  to  the  elderly 
husband  forced  upon  her,  and  living  eternally  with  the  memory 
of  the  fan  re  who  was  absent,  perhaps  dead,  w^as  pretty,  poetical, 
and  touching  through  the  final  sacrifice.  There  was  even  a  cer- 
tain grandeur  in  the  end  of  the  piece.  It  had,  I  must  repeat, 
an  immense  success  and  increased  my  growing  reputation. 

I  was,  however,  awaiting  the  event  which  was  to  consecrate 
me  a  star.     I  did  not  quite  know  Avhat  I  w^as  expecting,  but  I 

234: 


THE    COMMUNE    AND    VICTOR    HUGO 

knew  that  my  Messiah  had  to  come.  And  it  was  the  greatest 
poet  of  the  last  century  who  was  to  place  on  my  head  the  crown 
of  the  Elect. 

At  the  end  of  that  year,  1871,  we  were  told,  in  rather  a 
mysterious  and  solemn  way,  that  we  were  going  to  play  a  piece 
of  Victor  Hugo's.  My  mind,  at  that  time  of  my  life,  was  still 
closed  to  great  ideas.  What  with  my  somewhat  cosmopolitan 
family,  their  rather  snobbish  acquaintances  and  friends,  and  the 
acquaintances  and  friends  I  had  chosen  in  my  independent 
life  as  an  artiste,  I  was  living  in  rather  a  bourgeois  atmos- 
phere. I  had  heard  Victor  Hugo  spoken  of  ever  since  my 
childhood  as  a  rebel  and  a  renegade,  and  his  works,  which  I 
had  read  with  passion,  did  not  prevent  my  judging  him  with 
very  great  severity.  And  I  blush  to-day  with  anger  and  shame, 
when  I  think  of  all  my  absurd  prejudices,  nourished  by  the 
imbecile  or  insincere  little  court  which  flattered  me.  I  had  a 
great  wish,  nevertheless,  to  play  in  "  Ruy  Bias."  The  role  of 
the  queen  seemed  so  charming  to  me. 

I  mentioned  my  wish  to  Duquesnel,  who  said  he  had  already 
thought  of  it.  Jane  Essler,  an  artiste  then  in  vogue,  but  a 
trifle  vulgar,  had  great  chances,  though,  against  me.  She  was 
on  very  friendly  terms  with  Paul  Meurice,  Victor  Hugo's  in- 
timate friend  and  adviser.  A  friend  brought  Auguste  Vac- 
querie  to  my  house.  He  was  the  other  friend,  and  even  a  rela- 
tive of  the  '*  illustrious  master." 

Auguste  Vacquerie  promised  to  speak  for  me  to  Victor  Hugo, 
and  two  days  later  he  came  again,  assuring  me  that  I  had  every 
chance  in  my  favor.  Paul  Meurice  himself,  a  very  straightfor- 
ward man  with  a  delightful  mind,  had  proposed  me  to  the 
author.  Then,  too,  Gefl^roy,  the  admirable  artiste  taken  from 
the  Comedie  Francaise  to  play  "  Don  Sallust, "  had  said,  it  ap- 
pears, that  he  could  see  only  one  little  Queen  of  Spain  worthy 
to  wear  the  crown,  and  I  was  that  one.  I  did  not  know  Gefl^roy, 
and  I  did  not  know  Paul  Meurice,  and  w^as  rather  astonished 
that  they  should  know  me. 

The  reading  was  to  be  at  Victor  Hugo's  the  next  day  at 
two  o'clock.     I  was  very  much  spoiled  and  very  much  praised 

235 


MEMORIES    OI'    MV    EIEE 

and  flattered,  so  that  I  felt  hurt  at  the  unceremoniousnefts  of  a 
man  who  did  not  condescend  to  disturb  himself,  but  juskcd 
women  to  f?o  to  his  hoasc,  when  there  was  neutral  ^Tound.  the 
theater,  for  the  reading  of  plays.  I  told  this  unheard  of  thing 
at  five  o'clock  to  my  little  court,  and  men  and  women  alike  ex- 
claimed:  '*  What!  That  man  who  was  only  the  other  day  an 
outlaw!  That  man  who  has  only  just  been  pardoned!  That 
nobody  dares  to  ask  the  little  Idol,  the  Queen  of  Hearts,  the 
Fairy  of  Fairies  to  inconvenience  herself!  " 

All  my  little  sanctuary  was  in  a  tumult,  men  and  women 
alike  could  not  keep  still.  "  She  must  not  go,"  they  said. 
"  Write  him  this  .  .  .  write  him  that."  And  they  were  compos- 
ing impertinent,  disdainful  letters  when  ]\Iarshal  Canrobert  was 
announced.  He  belonged  at  that  time  to  my  little  five  o'clock 
court,  and  he  was  soon  posted  by  my  turbulent  visitors.  He 
was  furiously  angry  at  the  imbecilities  uttered  against  the 
great  poet. 

"  You  must  not  go  to  Victor  Hugo's,"  he  said  to  me,  "  for 
it  seems  to  me  that  he  has  no  reason  to  deviate  from  the  regular 
custoins.  But  make  an  excuse  of  sudden  illness — follow  my 
advice,  and  show  the  respect  for  him  that  we  owe  to  genius." 

I  followed  my  great  friend's  counsel  and  sent  the  following 
letter  to  the  poet: 

Monsieur:  The  Queen  has  taken  a  chill  and  her  Camernra  Mayor 
forbids  her  to  go  out.  You  know  better  than  anyone  else  the  etiquette  of 
this  Spanish  Court.     Pity  your  Queen,  Monsieur. 

I  sent  the  letter,  and  the  following  is  the  poet 's  reply : 

I  am  your  valet,  Madame. 

Victor  Hugo. 

The  next  day  the  play  was  read  on  the  stage  to  the  artistes. 
I  believe  that  the  reading  did  not  take  place,  or  at  least  not 
entirely,  at  the  master's  house. 

I  then  made  the  acquaintance  of  the  monster.  Ah,  what 
a  grudge  I  had  for  a  long  time  against  all  those  silly  people 
who  had  prejudiced  me! 

236 


THE    COMMUNE    AND    VICTOR    HUGO 

The  monster  was  charming,  so  witty  and  refined,  and  so 
gallant,  with  a  gallantry  that  was  an  homage  and  not  an  in- 
sult. He  was  so  good,  too,  to  the  humble,  and  always  so  gay. 
He  was  not,  certainly,  the  ideal  of  elegance,  but  there  was  a 
moderation  in  his  gestures,  a  gentleness  in  his  way  of  speaking, 
which  savored  of  the  old  French  peer.  He  was  quick  at  rep- 
artee, and  his  observations  were  gentle  but  persistent.  He 
recited  poetry  badly,  but  adored  hearing  it  well  recited. 

He  often  spoke  in  verse  when  he  wanted  to  reprimand  an 
artiste.  One  day,  during  a  rehearsal,  he  was  trying  to  convince 
poor  Tallien  about  his  bad  elocution.  I  was  bored  by  the  length 
of  the  colloquy,  and  sat  down  on  the  table  swinging  my  legs. 
He  understood  my  impatience  and,  getting  up  from  the  middle 
of  the  orchestra,  exclaimed : 

"Une  Reine  d'Espagne  honnfete  et  respectable 
Ne  devrait  point  ainsi  s'asseoir  sur  une  table." 

I  sprang  from  the  table,  slightly  embarrassed,  and  wanted 
to  answer  him  in  rather  a  piquant  or  witty  way — but  I  could 
not  find  anything  to  say,  and  remained  there,  confused  and  in 
a  bad  temper. 

One  day  when  the  rehearsal  was  over  an  hour  earlier  than 
usual,  I  was  waiting,  my  forehead  pressed  against  the  window 
pane,  for  the  arrival  of  Mme.  Guerard,  who  was  coming  to  fetch 
me.  I  was  gazing  idly  at  the  footpath  opposite,  which  is 
bounded  by  the  Luxembourg  railings.  Victor  Hugo  had  just 
crossed  the  road  and  was  about  to  walk  on.  An  old  woman 
attracted  his  attention.  She  had  just  put  a  heavy  bundle  of 
linen  down  on  the  ground  and  was  wiping  her  forehead,  on 
which  were  great  beads  of  perspiration. 

In  spite  of  the  cold,  her  toothless  mouth  was  half  open,  as 
she  was  panting,  and  her  eyes  had  an  expression  of  distressing 
anxiety,  as  she  looked  at  the  wide  road  she  had  to  cross,  with 
carriages  and  omnibuses  passing  each  other.  Victor  Hugo  ap- 
proached her,  and  after  a  short  conversation,  he  drew  a  piece 
of  money  from  his  pocket,  handed  it  to  her,  then  taking  off  his 
hat  he  confided  it  to  her  and,  with  a  quick  movement  and  a 

237 


MEMORIES    OF    MY    LIFE 

lau^liing  face,  lifted  tlie  bundle  to  his  shoulder  and  creased 
the  road,  followed  by  the  bewildered  woman.  I  rashed  down- 
stairs to  embrace  him  for  it,  but  by  the  time  I  had  reached  the 
passa^re,  jostled  a<iainst  De  Chilly,  who  wanted  to  stop  me,  and 
desei'nded  the  staircase,  Victor  IIu^o  had  disappeared.  I  could 
see  only  the  old  woman's  back,  but  it  seemed  to  me  that  she 
hobbled   along  now  more  briskly. 

The  next  day  I  told  the  jxx-t  that  I  had  witnessed  his  deli- 
cate, good  deed.  "  Oh,"  said  Paul  Maurice,  his  eyes  wet  with 
emotion,  "  every  day  that  dawns  is  a  day  of  kindness  for  him!  " 
I  embraced  Victor  Hugo  and  we  went  to  the  rehearsal. 

Oh,  those  rehearsals  of  "  Ruy  Bias  "!  I  shall  never  forget 
them,  for  there  w^as  such  good  grace  and  charm  about  every- 
thing. When  Victor  Hugo  arrived  everything  brightened  up. 
His  two  satellites,  Auguste  Vacquerie  and  Paul  Maurice, 
scarcely  ever  left  him,  and  when  the  ma.ster  was  absent  they 
kept  up  the  divine  fire.  Geffroy,  severe,  sad,  and  distinguished, 
often  gave  me  advice.  Then,  during  the  intervals  of  rest,  I 
posed  for  hhn  in  various  attitudes,  for  he  was  a  painter.  In 
the  foyer  of  the  Comedie  Francaise  there  are  two  pictures  rep- 
resenting the  members  of  both  sexes  for  two  generations.  The 
pictures  are  not  of  very  original  composition,  neither  are  they 
of  beautiful  coloring,  but  they  are  faithful  likenesses,  it  appears, 
and  rather  happily  grouped. 

Lafontaine,  who  was  playing  Eiiy  Bias,  often  had  long  dis- 
cussions with  the  master,  in  which  Victor  Hugo  never  yielded. 
And  I  must  confess  that  he  was  always  right.  Lafontaine  had 
conviction  and  self-assurance,  but  his  elocution  was  very  bad 
for  poetry.  He  had  lost  his  teeth,  and  they  were  replaced  by 
a  set  of  false  ones.  This  gave  a  certain  slowness  to  his  delivery, 
and  there  was  a  little  odd,  clacking  sound  between  his  real 
palate  and  his  artificial  rubber  palate,  which  often  distracted 
the  ear  listening  attentively  to  catch  the  beauty  of  the  poetry. 

As  to  that  poor  Tallien,  who  was  playing  Don  Guritan,  he 
made  a  hash  of  it  every  minute.  He  had  understood  his  role 
quite  wrongly.  Victor  Hugo  explained  it  to  him  clearly  and 
intelligently.     Tallien  was  a  well-intentioned  comedian,  a  hard 

238 


THE    COMMUNE    AND    VICTOR    HUGO 

worker,  alwaj^s  conscientious,  but  as  stupid  as  a  goose.  What 
he  did  not  understand  at  first,  he  never  understood.  It  was 
finished  for  life.  But,  as  he  was  straightforward  and  loyal,  he 
put  himself  into  the  hands  of  the  author,  and  gave  himself 
up  then  in  complete  self-abnegation.  "  That  is  not  as  I  un- 
derstood it,"  he  would  say,  "  but  I  will  do  as  you  tell  me." 

He  would  then  rehearse,  word  by  word  and  gesture  by  ges- 
ture, with  the  inflexions  and  movements  required.  This  got  on 
my  nerves  in  the  most  painful  way,  and  was  a  cruel  blow  de^Jt 
at  the  solidarity  of  my  artistic  pride.  I  often  took  this  poor 
Tallien  aside  and  tried  to  urge  him  on  to  rebellion,  but  it  was  all 
in  vain.  He  was  tall,  and  his  arms  were  too  long  and  his  eyes 
tired,  his  nose  was  weary  with  having  grown  too  long,  and  it 
sank  over  his  lips  with  heartrending  dejection.  His  forehead 
was  covered  with  thick  hair,  and  his  chin  seemed  to  be  running 
away  in  a  hurry  from  this  ill-built  face.  A  great  kindliness 
was  diffused  all  over  his  being,  and  this  kindliness  was  just 
himself.     Everyone  was  therefore  infinitely  fond  of  him. 

The  26th  of  January,  1872,  was  an  artistic  fete  for  the 
Odeon.  The  Tout-Paris  of  first  nights  and  all  youthful  Paris 
were  to  meet  in  the  large,  solemn,  dusty  theater.  Ah,  what 
a  splendid,  stirring  performance  it  was!  What  a  triumph  for 
Geffroy,  pale,  sinister,  and  severe  looking  in  his  black  costume 
as  Don  Sallustel  Melingue  rather  disappointed  the  public  as 
Don  Cesar  de  Bazan,  and  the  public  was  in  the  wrong.  .  .  .  The 
role  of  Don  Cesar  de  Bazan  is  a  treacherously  good  role,  which 
always  tempts  artistes  by  the  brilliancy  of  the  first  act;  but  the 
fourth  act,  which  belongs  entirely  to  him,  is  distressingly  heavy 
and  useless.  It  might  be  taken  out  of  the  piece,  just  like  a 
periwinkle  out  of  its  shell,  and  the  piece  would  be  none  the 
less  clear  and  complete. 

This  26th  of  January  rent  asunder,  though,  for  me,  the  thin 
veil  which  still  made  my  future  hazy,  and  I  felt  that  I  was 
destined  for  celebrity.  Until  that  day  I  had  remained  the 
students'  little  Fairy.     I  became  then  the  Elect  of  the  Public. 

Breathless,  dazed,  and  yet  delighted  by  my  success,  I  did  not 
know  to  whom  to  reply,  in  the  ever-changing  stream  of  men  and 

239 


.MHMOUIKS    OF    MV     LIFK 

women  admirers.  All  at  once,  T  saw  the  crowd  separating  and 
forming,'  two  lines,  and  1  canf^dit  a  ^dimpso  of  N'ietor  lluf^o  and 
(rirardin  coming  toward  me.  In  a  second  all  the  stnpid  ideas 
I  had  had  ahont  this  immense  genius  flashed  across  mc.  I  re- 
memheretl  my  first  interview,  wdien  I  had  been  still'  and  barely 
polite  to  this  kind,  indulgent  man.  At  that  moment,  when  all 
my  life  was  oi)ening  its  wings,  I  should  have  liked  to  cry  out 
to  him  my  repentance,  and  to  tell  him  of  my  devout  gratitude. 

Before  I  could  speak,  though,  he  was  down  on  his  knee,  and, 
raising  my  two  hands  to  his  lips,  he  murmured:  "  Thank  you! 
Thank  you!  " 

And  so  it  w^as  he  who  said  thank  you.  He,  the  great  Victor 
Hugo,  whose  mind  was  so  fine,  whose  universal  genius  filled  the 
world!  He,  whose  generous  hands  flung  pardons  like  gems  to 
all  his  insulters.  Ah,  how  small  I  felt,  how  ashamed  and  yet 
how  happy !  He  then  rose,  shook  the  hands  that  were  held  out 
to  him,  finding  for  everyone  the  right  word. 

He  w'as  so  handsome  that  night,  with  his  wide  forehead, 
which  seemed  to  retain  the  light,  his  thick,  silvery  fleece  of  hair, 
and  his  laughing,  luminous  eyes. 

Not  daring  to  fling  myself  in  Victor  Hugo's  arms,  I  fell  into 
Girardin's,  the  sure  friend  of  my  first  steps,  and  burst  into 
tears.  He  took  me  aside  in  my  dressing-room.  ' '  You  must  not 
let  yourself  be  intoxicated  with  this  great  success,  now, ' '  he  said. 
**  There  must  be  no  more  risky  jumps,  now  that  you  are  crowned 
•with  laurels.  You  will  have  to  be  more  yielding,  more  docile, 
more  sociable. ' ' 

"  I  feel  that  I  shall  never  be  yielding  nor  docile,  my  friend," 
I  answered,  looking  at  him.  ' '  I  will  try  to  be  more  sociable,  but 
that  is  all  I  can  promise.  As  to  my  crown,  I  assure  you  that 
in  spite  of  my  risky  jumps — and  I  feel  that  I  shall  always  be 
making  jumps — the  crown  will  not  shake  oft'." 

Paul  Maurice,  who  had  come  up  to  me,  overheard  this  conver- 
sation and  reminded  me  of  it  on  the  evening  of  the  first  perform- 
ance of  "  Angelo,"  at  the  Sarah  Bernhardt  Theater,  on  the 
7th  of  February,  1905. 

240 


CHAPTER   XVI 


I   LEAVE   THE   ODEON 


\  N  returning-  home,  I  sat  up  a  long  time  talking  to  Mme. 
Guerard,  and  when  she  wanted  to  go  I  begged  her  to 
stay  longer.  I  had  become  so  rich  in  hopes  and 
future  that  I  was  afraid  of  thieves.  My  petite  dame 
stayed  on  with  me,  and  we  talked  till  daybreak.  At  seven 
0  'clock  we  took  a  cab  and  I  drove  my  dear  friend  home,  and  then 
continued  driving  for  another  hour.  I  had  already  achieved  a 
fair  number  of  successes:  "Le  Passant,"  and  "  Le  Drame  de 
la  Rue  de  la  Paix  ";  Anna  Danhy  in  "Kean,"  and  "  Jean- 
Marie,"  but  I  felt  that  the  "  Ruy  Bias  "  success  was  greater 
than  any  of  the  others,  and  that  this  time  I  had  become  some  one 
likely  to  be  criticised,  but  not  to  be  overlooked. 

I  often  went  in  the  morning  to  Victor  Hugo's  and  he  was 
always  very  charming  and  kind. 

When  I  was  quite  at  my  ease  with  him,  I  told  him  about  my 
first  impressions,  about  all  my  stupid,  nervous  rebellion  with  re- 
gard to  him,  about  all  that  I  had  been  told  and  all  that  I  had 
believed,  in  my  naive  ignorance  about  political  matters. 

On  this  particular  morning,  the  master  took  great  delight  in 
my  conversation.  He  sent  for  Mme.  Drouet,  the  sweet  soul,  the 
companion  of  his  glorious  and  rebellious  mind.  He  told  her, 
in  a  laughing,  but  melancholy  way,  about  the  evil  work  of  bad 
people,  in  sowing  error  in  every  soil,  whether  favorable  or  not. 
That  morning  is  engraved  forever  in  my  mind,  for  the  gi'eat  man 
talked  a  long  time.  Oh,  it  was  not  for  me,  but  for  what  I 
represented  in  his  eyes!  Was  I  not,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  the 
17  241 


MEMORIES    OF    MY    LIFE 

younfT  fjeneration,  in  wlioin  a  honrffcols  and  clffical  t'(luoati(jn 
liad  wnrjx'd  tlu'  iiitclli^cMcc,  hy  closiuf^  the  mind  to  every  gen- 
ci-oiis  idea,  lo  cvt'ry  flight  toward  the  New? 

W'licti  L  Icli  Victor  lliiLio  that  inoi-ninvr  I  t"<'lt  inysfll"  more 
worthy  ol"  his  friendship. 

I  tlien  went  to  (Jirardin's,  as  I  wanted  to  talk  to  some  being 
Avho  U)vi'(l  tlie  poet,  but  lie  was  out. 

I  went  next  to  Marsha!  Caru-obert's,  and  tliere  I  had  a  great 
surprise.  Just  as  I  was  getting  out  of  the  carriage,  I  nearly  fell 
into  the  arms  of  the  marshal,  who  was  coming  out  of  his  house. 

"  What  is  it?  What's  the  matter?  Is  it  postponed?  "  he 
asked  laughing. 

I  did  not  understand  and  gazed  at  him  rather  bewildered. 
"  Well,  have  you  foi'gotten  that  you  invited  me  to  hnieheon?  " 
he  asked. 

I  was  (juite  confused,  for  I  had  entirely  forgotten  it.  "  Well, 
all  the  better!  "  I  said.  "  I  very  nmeh  wanted  to  talk  to  you. 
Come,  I  am  going  to  take  you  with  me  now." 

I  then  described  my  visit  to  Victor  Hugo,  and  repeated  all 
the  fine  things  he  had  said  to  me,  forgetting  that  I  was  constantly 
saying  things  that  were  contrary  to  his  ideas.  This  admirable 
man  could  admire,  though,  and  if  he  could  not  change  his 
opinions,  he  approved  the  great  ideas  which  were  to  bring  about 
great  changes. 

One  day,  when  he  and  Busnach  were  both  at  my  house,  there 
had  been  a  political  discussion  which  became  rather  violent.  I 
was  afraid  for  a  moment  that  things  might  take  a  wrong  turn,  as 
Busnach  was  the  most  witty,  and  at  the  same  time  the  rudest 

man  in  France It  is  only  fair  to  say,  though,  that  if 

Marshal  Canrobert  was  a  polite  man  and  very  well  bred,  he  \vas 
not  at  all  behind  William  Busnach  in  wit.  The  latter  was 
Avorked  up  by  the  teasing  speeches  of  the  marshal. 

"  I  challenge  you,  monsieur,"  he  exclaimed,  "  to  write  about 
the  odious  Utopias  that  you  have  just  been  supporting !  "  "  Oh, 
M.  Busnach,"  replied  Canrobert,  coldly,  "  we  do  not  use  the 
same  steel  for  writing  history !     You  use  a  pen  and  I  a  sword. ' ' 

The  luncheon  that  I  had  so  completely  forgotten  was  never- 

242 


I    LEAVE    THE    ODEON 

theless  a  luncheon  arranged  several  days  previously.  On  reach- 
ing home  we  found  there  Paul  de  Remusat,  charming  Mile. 
Hocquigny,  and  M.  De  Montbel,  a  young  attache  of  the  Embassy. 
I  explained  my  lateness  as  well  as  I  could  and  the  morning 
finished  in  the  most  delicious  harmony  of  ideas. 

I  have  never  felt  more  than  I  did  that  day  the  infinite  joy 
of  listening. 

During  a  silence,  Mile.  Hocquigny  turned  to  the  marshal  and 
said  :  ' '  Are  you  not  of  the  opinion  that  our  young  friend  ought 
to  enter  the  Comedie  Francaise?  " 

' '  Ah,  no,  no !  "  I  exclaimed,  ' '  I  am  so  happy  at  the  Odeon. 
I  began  at  the  Comedie  and  the  short  time  I  stayed  there  I  was 
so  unhappy. ' ' 

"  You  will  be  obliged  to  go  back  there,  my  dear  friend — 
obliged!     Believe  me,  it  will  be  better  early  than  late." 

"  Well,  do  not  spoil  to-day's  pleasure  for  me,  for  I  have 
never  been  happier !  ' ' 

One  morning  after  this  my  maid  brought  me  a  letter.  The 
large  round  stamp,  on  which  the  words  "  Comedie  Francaise  " 
are  to  be  read,  was  on  the  corner  of  the  envelope, 

I  remembered  that  just  ten  years  ago  that  very  day,  our  old 
servant  Marguerite  had,  without  my  mother 's  permission,  handed 
me  a  letter  in  the  same  kind  of  envelope.  My  face  then  had 
flushed  with  joy,  but  this  time  I  felt  a  faint  tinge  of  pallor  touch 
my  cheeks.  When  events  occur  which  disturb  my  life,  I  always 
have  a  movement  of  recoil  toward  the  past.  I  cling  for  a  second 
to  what  is,  and  then  I  fling  myself  headlong  into  what  is  to 
be.  It  is  like  a  gymnast  who  clings  first  to  his  trapeze  bar  in 
order  to  fling  himself  afterwards  with  full  force  into  space.  In 
one  second  the  "  now  "  becomes  for  me  the  "  has  been,"  and  I 
love  it  with  tender  emotion  as  something  dead.  But  I  adore 
what  is  to  be  without  seeking  even  to  know  about  it,  for  what  is 
to  be  is  the  unknown,  the  mysterious  attraction.  I  always  fancy 
that  it  will  be  something  unheard  of,  and  I  shudder  from  head  to 
foot  in  delicious  uneasiness. 

I  receive  quantities  of  letters,  and  it  seems  to  me  that  I  never 
receive  enough.     I  watch  them  accumulating  just  as  I  watch  the 

243 


iMEMORIES    OF    MY    LIFE 

waves  of  the  sea.  What  are  they  ^oin^'  to  hrin^'  me,  these 
mysterious  envelopes,  large,  small,  pink,  blue,  yellow,  white? 
What  are  they  going  to  fling  upon  the  rock,  these  great  wild 
waves,  dark  with  seaweed?  What  sailor-boy's  corpse?  What 
remains  of  a  wreck?  What  are  these  little  brisk  waves  going  to 
leave  on  the  bench,  these  reflections  of  a  blue  sky,  little  laughing 
waves?  What  pink  "  seastar"  ?  What  mauve  anemone? 
What  pearly  shell? 

So  I  never  open  my  letters  immediately.  I  look  at  the  en- 
velopes, try  to  recognize  the  handwriting,  the  seal,  and  it  is 
only  when  I  am  quite  certain  from  whom  the  letter  comes  that  I 
open  it.  The  others  I  leave  my  secretary  to  open  or  a  kind 
friend,  Suzanne  Ley  lor.  My  friends  know  this  so  well  that  they 
always  put  their  initials  in  the  corner  of  their  envelopes.  At 
that  time,  I  had  no  secretary,  but  my  petite  dame  served  me  as 
such.  I  looked  at  the  envelope  a  long  time  and  gave  it  at  last 
to  ]\'Inie.  Guerard. 

"It  is  a  letter  from  M.  Perrin,  director  of  the  '  Comedie 
Frangaise,'  "  she  said.  "  He  asks  if  you  can  fix  a  time  to  see 
him  on  Tuesday  or  Wednesday  afternoon  at  the  '  Comedie 
Frangaise,'  or  at  your  own  house." 

"  Thanks,  what  day  is  it  to-day?  "  I  asked. 

"  Monday,"  she  replied. 

I  then  installed  Mme.  Guerard  at  my  desk  and  asked  her  to 
reply  that  I  would  go  there  the  following  day  at  three  o  'clock. 

I  was  earning  very  little  at  that  time  at  the  Odeon.  I  was 
living  on  what  my  father  had  left  me,  that  is,  on  the  transaction 
made  by  the  Havre  notary,  and  not  much  remained.  I  therefore 
went  to  see  Duquesnel  and  showed  him  the  letter. 

"  Well,  what  are  you  going  to  do?  "  he  asked. 

"  Nothing.     I  have  come  to  ask  your  advice." 

"  Oh,  well,  I  shall  advise  you  to  stay  at  the  Odeon  !  Besides, 
your  engagement  does  not  terminate  for  another  year,  and  I 
shall  not  let  you  leave !  ' ' 

"  Well,  raise  my  salary,  then,"  I  said.  "  I  am  offered  twelve 
thousand  francs  a  year  at  the  Comedie.  Give  me  fifteen  thou- 
sand here  and  I  will  stay,  for  I  do  not  want  to  leave. ' ' 

244 


I    LEAVE    THE    ODEON 

"  Listen  to  me,"  said  the  charming  manager  in  a  friendly 
way.  ' '  You  know  that  I  am  not  free  to  act  alone,  but  I  will  do 
my  best,  I  promise  you, ' '  and  Duquesnel  certainly  kept  his  word. 
"  Come  here  to-morrow  before  going  to  the  Comedie,  and  I  will 
give  you  Chilly's  reply.  But  take  my  advice  and  if  he  ob- 
stinately refuses  to  increase  your  salary,  do  not  leave,  we  shall 
find  a  way.    And  besides  .  .  .  anyhow,  I  cannot  say  any  more!  " 

I  returned  the  following  day  according  to  arrangement.  I 
found  Duquesnel  and  Chilly  in  the  manager's  office.  Chilly  be- 
gan at  once  somewhat  roughly :  ' '  And  so  you  want  to  leave, 
Duquesnel  tells  me.  Where  are  you  going?  It  is  most  stupid, 
for  your  place  is  here.  Just  consider  and  think  it  over  for 
yourself.  At  the  Gymnase  they  only  give  modern  pieces,  pieces 
for  dressy  plays.  That  is  not  your  style.  At  the  Vaudeville  it  is 
the  same.  At  the  Gaiete  you  would  spoil  your  voice.  You  are 
too  distinguished  for  the  Ambigu. ' ' 

I  looked  at  him  without  replying  and  he  felt  awkward  and 
mumbled : 

"  Well,  then,  you  are  of  my  opinion? 

"  No,"  I  answered,  "  you  have  forgotten  the  Comedie." 

He  was  sitting  in  his  big  armchair  and  he  burst  out  laughing. 

' '  Ah,  no,  my  dear  girl !  "  he  said,  ' '  you  must  not  tell  me 
that!  They've  had  enough  of  your  queer  character  at  the 
Comedie.  I  dined  the  other  night  with  Maubaut  and  when 
some  one  said  that  you  ought  to  be  engaged  at  the  Comedie  Fran- 
caise  he  nearly  choked  with  rage.  I  can  assure  you  he  did  not 
show  much  affection  as  far  as  you  were  concerned,  the  great 
tragedian !  ' ' 

' '  Oh,  well,  you  ought  to  have  taken  my  part !  "  I  exclaimed, 
irritated.     "  You  know  very  well  that  I  am  very  reliable." 

"  But  I  did  take  your  part,"  he  said,  "  and  I  added  even 
that  it  would  be  a  very  fortunate  thing  for  the  Comedie  if  it 
could  have  an  artiste  with  your  wall  power,  that  perhaps  might 
relieve  the  monotonous  tone  of  the  house,  and  I  only  spoke  as  I 
thought,  but  the  poor  tragedian  w^as  beside  himself.  He  does 
not  consider  that  you  have  any  talent.  In  the  first  place,  he 
maintains  that  you  do  not  know  how  to  recite  poetry.     He  de- 

245 


MEMOIUKS    Ol'    M\     lAVV] 

claros  that  you  make  all  your  A's  too  broad.  Kiiially,  when  he 
had  no  ar^'unients  left,  he  declared  that  as  lorij;  as  he  lives  you 
will  never  enter  the  Coniedie  PVancjaisc " 

r  was  silent  for  a  moment,  weipjhint;  the  pros  and  cons  of  the 
probable  result  of  my  experiment.  Finally  eominj?  to  a  decision, 
1  munnured  somewhat  waverinj^ly:  "  Well,  then,  you  will  not 
give  me  a  higher  salary?  " 

"  No,  a  thousand  times  no!  "  yelled  Chilly.  "  You  will  try 
to  make  me  sing  when  your  engagement  comes  to  an  end  and  then 
we  will  see.  But  I  have  your  signature  until  then.  You  have 
mine,  too,  and  I  hold  to  our  engagement.  The  Theatre  Fran- 
(jais  is  the  only  one  that  would  suit  you  besides  ours,  and  I  am 
quite  easy  in  my  mind  with  regard  to  that  theater." 

"  You  make  a  mistake,  perhaps,"  I  answered.  lie  got  up 
brusquely  and  came  and  stood  opposite  me,  his  two  hands  in  his 
pockets.  He  then  said  in  an  odious  and  familiar  tone:  "  Ahl 
that's  it,  is  it?     You  think  I  am  an  idiot,  then?  " 

I  got  up,  too,  and  said  coldly,  pushing  him  gently  back: 
"  I  think  you  are  a  triple  idiot."  I  then  hurried  away  toward 
the  staircase,  and  all  Duquesnel's  shouting  was  in  vain.  I  ran 
down  the  stairs  two  at  a  time. 

On  arriving  under  the  Odeon  Arcade  I  was  stopped  by  Paul 
Maurice,  who  was  just  going  to  invite  Duquesnel  and  Chilly  for 
Victor  Hugo  to  a  supper  to  celebrate  the  hundredth  presenta- 
tion of  "  Ruy  Bias." 

"  I  have  just  come  away  from  your  house,"  he  said.  "  I 
have  left  you  a  few  lines  from  Victor  Hugo." 

"  Good,  good,  that's  all  right,"  I  replied,  getting  into  my 
carriage.    "  I  shall  see  you  to-morrow,  then,  my  friend." 

"  Good  heavens,  what  a  hurry  you  are  in!  "  he  said. 

"  Yes!  "  I  replied;  and  then,  leaning  out  of  the  window, 
I  said  to  my  coachman:  "  Drive  to  the  Comedie  Francaise. '* 

I  looked  at  Paul  INIaurice  to  wish  him  farewell.  He  was 
standing  stupefied  on  the  arcade  steps. 

On  arriving  at  the  Comedie  I  sent  my  card  to  Perrin,  and 
five  minutes  later  was  ushered  in  to  that  icy  manikin.  There 
were  two  very  distinct  personages  in  this  man.     The  one  was 

246 


I    LEAVE    THE    ODEON 

the  man  he  was  himself,  and  the  other  the  one  he  had  created 
for  the  requirements  of  his  profession.  Perrin  himself  was  gal- 
lant, pleasant,  witty,  and  slightly  timid;  the  manikin  was  cold 
and  somewhat  given  to  posing. 

I  was  first  received  by  Perrin,  the  manikin.  He  was  stand- 
ing up,  his  head  bent  to  bow  to  a  woman,  his  arm  outstretched 
to  indicate  the  hospitable  armchair.  He  waited,  with  a  certain 
affectation,  until  I  was  seated,  before  sitting  down  himself.  He 
then  picked  up  a  paper  knife,  in  order  to  have  something  to 
do  with  his  hands,  and  in  a  rather  weak  voice,  the  voice  of  the 
manikin,  he  remarked : 

"  Have  you  thought  it  over,  mademoiselle?  " 
*'  Yes,  monsieur,  and  here  I  am  to  give  my  signature." 
Before  he  had  time  to  give  me  any  encouragement  to  dabble 
with  the  things  on  his  desk,  I  drew  up  my  chair,  picked  up  a 
pen  and  prepared  to  sign  the  paper.  I  did  not  take  enough 
ink  at  first,  and  I  stretched  my  arm  out  across  the  whole  width 
of  the  writing  table  and  dipped  my  pen  this  time  resolutely 
to  the  bottom  of  the  ink  pot.  I  took  too  much  ink,  however, 
this  time,  and  on  the  return  journey  a  huge  drop  of  it  fell 
on  the  large  sheet  of  white  paper  in  front  of  the  manikin. 
He  bent  his  head,  for  he  was  slightly  shortsighted,  and  looked 
for  a  moment  like  a  bird  when  it  discovers  a  hempseed  in  its 
grain.    He  then  proceeded  to  put  aside  the  blotted  sheet. 

"  Wait  a  minute!  oh,  wait  a  minute!  "  I  exclaimed,  seizing 
the  inky  paper.  "  I  want  to  see  whether  I  am  doing  right  or 
not  to  sign.  If  that  is  a  butterfly  I  am  right,  and  if  anything 
else,  no  matter  what,  I  am  wrong."  I  took  the  sheet,  doubled  it 
in  the  middle  of  the  enormous  blot  and  pressed  it  firmly  to- 
gether. Emile  Perrin  thereupon  began  to  laugh,  giving  up  his 
manikin  attitude  entirely.  He  leaned  over  to  examine  the 
paper  with  me,  and  we  opened  it  very  gently,  just  as  one  opens 
one's  hand  after  imprisoning  a  fly.  When  the  paper  was  spread 
open,  in  the  midst  of  its  whiteness,  a  magnificent  black  butterfly 
with  outspread  wings  was  to  be  seen. 

"  Well,  then,"  said  Perrin,  with  nothing  of  the  manikin 
left,  "  we  were  quite  right  in  signing." 

247 


MEMORIES    OF    MY    LIFE 

Altci"  lliis  WT  liilkrd  Tor  some  tiiiin,  likci  two  li'icnd.s  who 
TiM'ct  a^'aiii,  lor  this  man  was  chaniiin^r  find  v<Ty  fascinatiiirj 
in  spite  of  his  nfrlincss.  When  I  left  him  v>'c  were  friends  and 
dclifi:hted  with  each  other. 

I  was  phiyiiifx  "  Huy  Bhis  "  that  ni<rht  at  tlic  Odt'-Dn.  Toward 
tcu  o'eloek  J)n<inesnel  came  to  my  di-essinjx-room. 

"  Vou  were  rather  rough  on  that  poor  ('hilly,''  lie  said. 
"  And  then,  too,  yon  really  were  not  nice.  You  ought  to  have 
come  hack  when  I  called  you.  Is  it  true,  as  J'aul  Maurice  telbi 
us,  that  you  went  straight  to  the  Theatre  Francaise?  " 

"  Here,  read  for  yourself,"  I  said,  handing  him  my  engage- 
ment with  the  Comedie. 

Duquesnel  took  the  paper  and  read  it. 

"  Will  you  let  me  show  it  to  Chilly?  "  he  asked. 

*'  Show  it  him,  certainly,"  I  replied. 

He  came  nearer  and  said  in  a  grave,  hurt  tone : 

"  You  ought  never  to  have  done  that  without  telling  me 
first.    It  shows  a  lack  of  confidence,  and  I  did  not  deserve  that." 

He  was  right,  but  the  thing  was  done,  A  moment  later 
Chilly  arrived,  furious,  gesticulating,  shouting,  stammering  in 
his  anger, 

"  It  is  abominable!  "  he  said.  **  It  is  treason,  and  you  had 
not  even  the  right  to  do  it!     I  shall  make  you  pay  damages!  " 

As  I  felt  in  a  bad  humor,  I  turned  my  back  on  him  and 
excused  myself  in  as  poor  a  way  as  possible  to  Duquesnel.  He 
was  hurt,  and  I  was  a  little  ashamed,  for  this  man  had  given 
me  nothing  but  proofs  of  kindliness;  and  it  was  he  who,  in 
spite  of  Chilly  and  many  other  unwilling  people,  had  held  the 
door  open  for  my  future. 

Chilly  kept  his  word  and  brought  an  action  against  me  and 
the  Comedie.  I  lost  and  had  to  pay  six  thousand  francs  damage 
to  the  managers  of  the  Odeon. 

A  few  months  later  Victor  Hugo  invited  the  interpreters  of 
**  Ruy  Bias  "  to  a  big  supper  in  honor  of  the  one  hundredth 
performance.  This  was  a  great  delight  to  me,  as  I  had  never 
been  present  at  a  supper  of  this  kind, 

I  had  scarcely  spoken  to  Chilly  since  our  last  scene.    On  the 

248 


SKULL    IN    MADAME    BERNHARDT'S    LIBRARY,  WITH    AUTOGRAPH 
VERSES    BY   VICTOR   HUGO. 


I    LEAVE    THE    ODEON 

night  in  question  he  was  placed  at  my  right,  and  we  had  to  get 
reconciled.  I  was  seated  at  the  right  of  Victor  Hugo,  and  at 
his  left  was  Mme.  Lambquin,  who  was  playing  the  Camerara 
Mayor.  Duquesnel  was  next  to  Mme.  Lambquin.  Opposite 
the  illustrious  poet  was  another  poet,  Theophile  Gautier,  with 
his  lion's  head  on  an  elephant's  body.  He  had  a  brilliant  mind 
and  said  the  choicest  things  with  a  horse  laugh.  The  flesh  of 
his  fat,  flabby,  wan  face  was  pierced  by  two  eyes  veiled  by 
heavy  lids.  The  expression  of  them  was  charming,  but  far  away. 
There  was  in  this  man  an  Oriental  nobility  choked  by  Western 
fashion  and  customs.  I  knew  nearly  all  his  poetry,  and  I  gazed 
at  him  with  aft'ection,  the  fond  lover  of  the  Beautiful, 

It  amused  me  to  imagine  him  dressed  in  superb  Oriental 
costumes.  I  could  see  him  lying  down  on  huge  cushions,  his 
beautiful  hands  playing  with  gems  of  all  colors,  and  some  of 
his  verses  came  in  murmurs  to  my  lips.  I  was  just  setting  off 
with  him  in  a  dream  that  was  infinite,  when  a  word  from  my 
neighbor,  Victor  Hugo,  made  me  turn  toward  him.  What  a 
difference !  He  was  just  himself,  the  great  poet,  the  most  or- 
dinary of  beings,  except  for  his  luminous  forehead.  He  wa^ 
heavy  looking,  although  very  active.  His  nose  was  common, 
his  eyes  lewd,  and  his  mouth  without  any  beauty;  his  voice 
alone  had  nobility  and  charm.  I  liked  to  listen  to  him  while 
looking  at  Theophile  Gautier. 

I  was  a  little  embarrassed,  though,  when  I  looked  across 
the  table,  for  at  the  side  of  the  poet  was  an  odious  individual, 
Paul  de  Ste.  Victor,  His  cheeks  looked  like  two  bladders  from 
which  the  oil  was  oozing  out.  His  nose  was  sharp  and  like  a 
crow's  beak,  his  eyes  evil  looking  and  hard,  his  arms  too  short, 
and  he  was  too  stout.  He  had  plenty  of  wit  and  talent,  but 
he  employed  both  in  saying  and  writing  more  harm  than  good. 
I  knew  that  this  man  hated  me,  and  I  promptly  returned  him 
hatred  for  hatred. 

In  the  toast  proposed  by  Victor  Hugo  in  thanking  everyone 
for  such  zealous  help  on  the  reappearance  of  his  work,  every 
person  raised  his  glass  and  looked  toward  the  poet,  but  the 
illustrious  master  turned  toward  me  and  continued:  "As  to 

249 


MEMORIES    OF    M\     LIFE 

yon,   iiiJidaino "     .Inst    ;it    lliis    iiiotiicnl    l*;iiil    df   St.   Victor 

put  his  ^flass  down  so  violently  on  the  table  that  it  broke.  There 
was  an  instant  of  stupor,  and  thr'ri  1  leaned  across  the  table 
and  held  my  plass  out  toward  1';imI  de  St.  Victor. 

"  Take  mine,"  I  said,  "  iiionsienr,  and  then  when  you  drink 
you  will  know  what  my  thou^dits  ai-e  in  reply  to  yours,  which 
you  have  just  expressed  so  clearly!  " 

The  horrid  man  took  my  jrlass,  but  with  what  a  look! 

Victor  Hugo  finished  his  speech  in  the  midst  of  applause  and 
cheers.  Ducpiesnel  then  leaned  back  and  spoke  to  me  (juietly. 
He  asked  me  to  tell  Chilly  to  reply,  that  it  was  his  turn  to 
speak. 

"  Come,  get  up,"  I  said  to  him.  ITe  gazed  at  me  with  a 
glassy  look  and  in  a  faraway  voice  replied : 

"  My  legs  are  being  held."  I  looked  at  him  more  atten- 
tively, while  Duquesnel  asked  for  silence  for  M.  De  Chilly's 
speech.  I  saw  that  his  fingers  were  gra.sping  a  fork  desperately, 
the  tips  of  his  fingers  were  white,  the  rest  of  the  hand  was  violet. 
I  took  his  hand,  and  it  was  icy  cold,  the  other  was  hanging  down 
inert  under  the  table.  There  was  silence  and  all  eyes  turned 
toward  Chilly. 

"  Get  up,"  I  said,  seized  with  terror.  ITe  made  a  movement, 
and  his  head  suddenly  fell  forward  with  his  face  on  his  plate. 
There  was  a  muffled  uproar,  and  the  few  women  present  sur- 
rounded the  poor  man.  Stupid,  commonplace,  iudifl^erent  things 
were  uttered  in  the  same  way  that  one  mutters  familiar  prayers. 
His  son  was  sent  for,  and  then  two  of  the  waiters  came  and 
carried  the  body  away,  living,  but  inert,  and  placed  it  in  a  small 
drawing-room. 

Duquesnel  stayed  with  him,  begging  me,  however,  to  go  back 
to  the  poet's  guests.  I  returned  to  the  room  where  the  supper 
had  taken  place.  Groups  had  been  formed,  and  when  I  was 
seen  entering  I  w^as  asked  if  he  was  no  better. 

"  The  doctor  has  just  arrived  and  he  cannot  yet  say,"  I 
replied. 

"It  is  indigestion."  said  Lafontaine  (Buy  Bias),  tossing 
off  a  glass  of  liqueur  brandy. 

250 


I    LEAVE    THE    ODEON 

"It  is  cerebral  ancemia, "  pronounced  Tallien  (Don  Guri- 
tan)   clumsily,  for  he  was  always  losing  his  memory. 

Victor  Hugo  approached  and  said  very  simply: 

"  It  is  a  beautiful  kind  of  death." 

He  then  took  my  arm  and  led  me  away  to  the  other  end  of 
the  room,  trying  to  chase  my  sadness  away  by  gallant  and  poet- 
ical whispers.  Some  little  time  passed  with  this  gloom  weigh- 
ing on  us,  and  then  Duquesnel  returned.  He  was  pale,  but 
had  put  on  the  attitude  of  a  man  of  the  world,  and  was  ready 
to  answer  all  questions. 

"  Oh,  yes,  he  had  just  been  taken  home.  It  would  be  noth- 
ing, it  appeared.  He  only  needed  rest  for  a  couple  of  days. 
Probably  his  feet  had  been  cold  during  the  meal." 

*'  Yes,"  put  in  one  of  the  "  Ruy  Bias  "  guests,  "  there  cer- 
tainly was  a  fine  draught  from  some  chink  under  the  table!  " 

"  Yes,"  Duquesnel  was  just  replying  to  some  one  who  was 
worrying  him.  "  Yes,  no  doubt,  there  was  too  much  heat  for 
'his  head." 

"  Yes,"  added  another  of  the  guests,  "  our  heads  were 
nearly  on  fire  with  that  wretched  gas. ' ' 

I  could  see  the  moment  arriving  when  Victor  Hugo  would 
be  reproached  by  all  of  his  guests  for  the  cold,  the  heat,  the 
food,  and  the  wine  of  his  banquet.  All  these  imbecile  remarks 
got  on  Duquesnel 's  nerves.  He  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and 
drawing  me  away  from  the  crowd  said: 

*'  It's  all  over  with  him." 

I  had  had  a  presentiment  of  this,  but  the  certainty  of  it 
now  caused  me  intense  grief. 

*'  I  want  to  go,"  I  said  to  Duquesnel.  "  Would  you  kindly 
tell  some  one  to  ask  for  my  carriage?  " 

I  moved  toward  the  small  drawing-room  which  served  as 
a  cloak  room  for  our  wraps,  and  there  old  Mme.  Lambquin 
knocked  up  against  me.  Slightly  intoxicated  by  the  heat  and 
the  wine,  she  was  waltzing  with  Tallien. 

"  Ah!  I  beg  your  pardon,  little  Madonna,"  she  said,  "  I 
nearly  knocked  you  over." 

I  pulled  her  toward  me  and,  without  refiecting,  whispered 

251 


MKMOIUKS    OF    MY     LIFE 

to  her,  "  Don't  (laiicc  any  iiioi'c,  MamiiKi  Lanil)<|iiin,  Chilly 
is  dying."  She  was  purplo,  but  her  face  turned  as  white  as 
chalk.  Her  teeth  l)e*ran  to  chatter,  but  she  did  not  utter  a 
word. 

"  Oh,  my  dear  Lanibquin,"  1  iiuinnured,  "  I  did  not  know 
I  should  make  you  so  wretched!  " 

But  she  was  not  listening  to  nie  any  longer.  She  was  putting 
on  her  cloak. 

"  Are  you  leaving?  "  she  asked  me. 

"  Yes,"  I  replied. 

"  Will  you  drive  me  home?    I  will  then  tell  you.  ..." 

She  wrapped  a  black  fichu  round  her  head  and  we  both  went 
downstairs,  accompanied  by  Duijuesnel  and  Paul  Maurice,  who 
saw  us  into  the  carriage. 

She  lived  in  the  St.  Germain  neighborhood  and  I  in  the  Rue 
de  Rome.  On  the  way  the  poor  woman  told  me  the  following 
details : 

*'  You  know,  my  dear,"  she  began,  "  I  have  a  mania  for 
somnambulists,  and  fortune  tellers  of  all  kinds.  Well,  last 
Friday  (you  see,  I  only  consult  them  on  a  Friday)  a  woman 
who  tells  fortunes  by  cards  said  to  me :  '  You  will  die  a  week 
after  a  man  who  is  dark  and  not  young  and  whose  life  is  con- 
nected with  yours.'  Well,  my  dear,  I  thought  she  was  just 
making  game,  for  there  is  no  man  who.se  life  is  connected  with 
mine,  as  I  am  a  widow  and  have  never  had  any  liaison.  I  there- 
fore abused  her  for  this,  as  I  paid  her  seven  francs.  She  charges 
ten  francs  to  other  people  but  seven  francs  to  artistes.  She 
W'as  furious  at  my  not  believing  her,  and  she  seized  my  hands 
and  said:  '  It's  no  good  yelling  at  me,  for  it  is  as  I  say.  And 
if  you  want  me  to  tell  you  the  exact  truth,  it  is  a  man  who 
supports  you,  and  even  to  be  more  exact  still,  there  are  two 
men  who  support  you,  the  one  dark  and  the  other  fair — It's 
a  nice  thing,  that !  '  She  had  not  finished  her  speech  before 
I  had  given  her  such  a  slap  as  she  had  never  had  in  her  life, 
I  can  assure  you.  Afterwards,  though,  I  puzzled  my  head  to 
find  out  what  the  wretched  woman  could  have  meant.  And  all 
I  could  find  was  that  the  two  men  who  support  me,  the  one 

252 


I    LEAVE    THE    ODEON 

dark  and  the  other  fair,  are  our  two  managers:  Chilly  and  Du- 
quesnel.    And,  now  you  tell  me  that  Chilly " 

She  stopped  short,  breathless  with  her  story,  and  again 
seized  with  terror.  "  I  feel  stifled,"  she  murmured,  and,  in 
spite  of  the  freezing  cold,  we  lowered  both  the  windows.  On 
arriving  I  helped  her  up  her  four  flights  of  stairs  and  after 
telling  the  concierge  to  look  after  her,  and  giving  the  woman 
a  twenty-franc  piece  to  make  sure  that  she  would  do  so,  I  went 
home  myself  very  much  upset  by  all  these  incidents,  as  dramatic 
as  they  were  unexpected,  in  the  midst  of  a  fete. 

Three  days  later  Chilly  died  without  ever  recovering  con- 
sciousness. 

Twelve  days  later  poor  Lambquin  died.  To  the  priest  who 
gave  her  absolution  she  said:  **  I  am  dying  because  I  listened 
to  and  believed  the  demon." 


253 


wm 


CHAPTER    XVII 

I   RETURN    TO   THE    COMEDIE   FRAN^AISE 

LEFT  the  Odeon  with  very  great  regret,  for  I  adored 
»*'«»iirt?v  ^"^^  ^^^^^  adore  that  theater.  It  always  seems  as 
^^^i^'ttl^^  tliough  in  itself  it  were  a  little  provincial  town. 
lf/3iii^^vi)  Its  hospitable  arcades,  under  which  so  many  poor 
old  savants  take  the  air  and  are  sheltered  at  the  same  time  from 
the  sun;  the  large  flags  all  round,  between  the  crevices  of  which 
microscopic  yellow  grass  grows;  its  tall  pillars,  blackened  by 
time,  by  hands,  and  by  the  dirt  from  the  road ;  the  uninterrupted 
noise  going  on  all  around,  the  departure  of  the  omnibuses,  like 
the  departure  of  the  old  coaches;  the  fraternity  of  the  people 
who  meet  there,  everything,  even  to  the  very  railings  of  the 
Luxembourg,  give  it  a  quite  special  aspect  in  the  midst  of  Paris. 
Then,  too,  there  is  a  kind  of  odor  of  the  colleges  there,  the  very 
walls  are  impregnated  with  youthful  hopes.  People  are  not 
always  talking  there  of  yesterday  as  they  do  in  the  other  thea- 
ters.    The  young  artistes  who  come  there  talk  of  to-morrow. 

In  short,  my  mind  never  goes  back  to  those  few  years  of 
my  life  without  a  childish  emotion,  without  thinking  of  laugh- 
ter and  without  a  dilation  of  the  nostrils,  inhaling  again  the 
odor  of  little  ordinary  bouquets,  clumsily  tied  up,  bouquets 
which  had  all  the  freshness  of  flowers  that  grow  in  the  open  air, 
flowers  that  were  the  oft'erings  of  the  hearts  of  twenty  summers, 
little  bouquets  paid  for  out  of  the  purses  of  students. 

I  would  not  take  anything  away  with  me  from  the  Odeon. 
I  left  the  furniture  of  my  dressing-room  to  a  yoimg  artiste. 
I  left  my  costumes,  all  the  little  toilette  knickknacks.     I  divided 

254 


I    RETURN    TO    THE    COMEDIE    FRANgAISE 

them  and  gave  them  away.  I  felt  that  my  life  of  hopes  and 
dreams  was  to  cease  there.  I  felt  that  the  ground  was  now  ready 
for  the  fruition  of  all  the  dreams,  that  life  was  about  to  com- 
mence, and  I  divined  rightly. 

My  first  experience  at  the  Comedie  Francaise  had  not  been 
a  success.  I  knew  that  I  was  going  into  the  lion's  den.  I 
counted  few  friends  in  this  house,  except  Laroche,  Coquelin,  and 
Mounet-Sully ;  the  two  first  my  friends  of  the  Conservatoire, 
and  the  latter  of  the  Odeon.  Among  the  women  Marie  Lloyd 
and  Sophie  Croizette,  both  friends  of  my  childhood,  the  dis- 
agreeable Jouassain,  who  was  nice  only  to  me,  and  the  adorable 
Mile.  Brohan,  whose  goodness  delighted  the  soul,  whose  wit 
charmed  the  mind,  and  whose  indifference  rebuffed  devotion. 

M.  Perrin  decided  that  I  should  make  my  debut  in  "  Made- 
moiselle de  Belle  Isle,"  according  to  Sarcey's  wish.  The  re- 
hearsals began  in  the  foyer,  which  troubled  me  very  much.  ]\Ille. 
Brohan  was  to  play  the  part  of  the  Marquise  de  Prie.  At  this 
time  she  was  so  fat  as  to  be  almost  unsightly,  while  I  was  so 
thin  that  the  composers  of  popular  and  comic  verses  took  my 
meager  proportions  as  their  theme  and  the  cartoonists  as  a  sub- 
ject for  their  albums.  It  was  therefore  impossible  for  the  Due 
de  Richelieu  to  mistake  the  Marquise  de  Prie  (Madeleine  Bro- 
han) for  Mademoiselle  de  Belle  Isle  (Sarah  Bernhardt)  in  the 
inconvenient  and  conclusive  nocturnal  rendezvous  given  by  the 
Marquise  to  the  Due,  who  thinks  he  embraces  the  chaste  Made- 
moiselle de  Belle  Isle. 

At  each  rehearsal,  Bressant,  who  took  the  part  of  the  Due 
de  Richelieu,  would  stop,  saying:  *'  No,  it  is  too  ridiculous.  I 
must  play  the  Due  de  Richelieu  with  both  my  arms  cut  off!  " 
And  Madeleine  left  the  rehearsal  to  go  to  the  director's  room, 
in  order  to  try  and  get  rid  of  the  role. 

This  was  exactly  what  Perrin  -wanted ;  he  had  from  the  earli- 
est moment  thought  of  Croizette,  but  he  wanted  to  have  his 
hand  forced  for  private  and  underhand  reasons  which  he  knew 
and  which  others  guessed. 

At  last  the  change  took  place,  and  the  serious  rehearsals  com- 
menced.    Then  the  first  performance  was  announced   for  No- 

255 


MEMORIES    OF    MV    T.IFE 

vember  6  (1872).  I  yiave  always  had,  from  the  very  beginning, 
and  still  have,  a  terrible  fear,  especially  when  I  knuw  that  much 
is  expected  from  me.  And  I  knew  a  long  time  beforehand  that 
the  Salle  had  been  let;  I  knew  that  the  Press  counted  on  a  big 
success,  and  that  Pcrrin  himself  was  reckoning  on  a  succession 
of  good  takings. 

Alas!  all  these  hopes  and  predictions  went  for  nothing,  and 
my  debuts  at  the  Comedie  Frangaise  were  only  mediocre. 

The  following  is  an  extract  from  the  Temps  of  November 
11,  1872.  It  was  written  by  Francisque  Sarcey,  with  whom  I 
was  not  then  acquainted,  but  who  was  following  my  career  with 
very  great  interest : 

"  It  was  a  very  brilliant  assembly,  as  this  debut  had  at- 
tracted all  theater  lovers.  The  fact  is,  besides  the  special  merit 
of  Mile.  Sarah  Bernhardt,  a  whole  crowd  of  true  or  false  stories 
had  been  circulated  about  her  personally,  and  all  this  had  ex- 
cited the  curiosity  of  the  Parisian  public.  Her  appearance  was 
a  disappointment.  She  had,  by  her  costume,  exaggerated  in 
a  most  ostentatious  way  a  slenderness  which  is  elegant  under 
the  veils  and  ample  drapery  of  the  Grecian  and  Roman  hero- 
ines, but  which  is  objectionable  in  modern  dress.  Then,  too, 
either  powder  does  not  suit  her,  or  stage  fright  had  made  her 
terribly  pale.  The  effect  of  this  long,  white  face  emerging  from 
a  long,  black  sheath  was  certainly  unpleasant  "  (I  looked  like 
an  ant),  "  particularly  as  the  eyes  had  lo.st  their  brilliancy, 
and  all  that  relieved  the  face  were  the  sparkling  white  teeth. 
She  went  through  the  first  three  acts  with  a  convulsive  tremor, 
and  we  recognized  the  Sarah  of  '  Ruy  Bias  '  only  by  two  coup- 
lets which  she  gave  in  her  enchanting  voice  with  the  most  won- 
derful grace;  but  in  all  the  more  powerful  passages  she  was 
a  failure.  I  doubt  whether  Mile.  Sarah  Bernhardt  will  ever, 
with  her  delicious  voice,  be  able  to  render  those  deep,  thrilling 
notes,  expressive  of  paroxysms  of  violent  passion,  which  are 
capable  of  carrying  away  an  audience.  If  only  nature  had 
endowed  her  with  this  gift,  she  would  be  a  perfect  artiste,  and 
there  are  none  such  on  the  stage.     Roused  by  the  coldness  of 

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I    RETURN    TO    THE    COMEDIE    FRAN^AISE 

her  public,  Mile.  Sarah  Bernhardt  was  entirely  herself  in  the 
fifth  act.  This  was  certainly  our  Sarah  once  more,  the  Sarah 
of  '  Ruy  Bias,'  whom  we  had  admired  so  much  at  the  Odeon," 
etc.,  etc. 

As  Sarcey  said,  I  made  a  complete  failure  of  my  debut.  My 
excuse,  though,  was  not  the  "  stage  fright  "  to  which  he  attrib- 
uted it,  but  the  terrible  anxiety  I  felt  on  seeing  my  mother  hur- 
riedly leave  her  seat  in  the  dress  circle  five  minutes  after  my 
appearance  on  the  stage.  I  had  glanced  at  her  on  entering,  and 
had  noticed  her  deathlike  pallor.  When  she  went  out,  I  felt 
that  she  was  about  to  have  one  of  those  attacks  which  endan- 
gered her  life,  so  that  my  first  act  seemed  to  me  interminable. 
I  uttered  one  word  after  another,  stammering  through  my  sen- 
tences haphazard,  with  only  one  idea  in  my  head,  a  longing 
to  know  what  had  happened.  Oh,  the  public  cannot  conceive 
of  the  tortures  endured  by  the  unfortunate  comedians  who  are 
there  before  them  in  flesh  and  blood  on  the  stage,  gesticulating 
and  uttering  phrases,  while  their  heart,  all  torn  with  anguish, 
is  with  the  beloved  absent  one  who  is  suffering!  As  a  rule, 
one  can  fling  away  the  worries  and  anxieties  of  everyday  life, 
put  off  one's  own  personality  for  a  few  hours,  take  on  another 
and,  forgetting  everything  else,  enter  as  it  were  into  another 
life.  But  that  is  impossible  when  our  dear  ones  are  suffering; 
anxiety  then  lays  hold  of  us,  attenuating  the  bright  side,  mag- 
nifying the  dark,  maddening  our  brain,  which  is  living  two  lives 
at  once,  and  tormenting  our  heart,  which  is  beating  as  though  it 
would  burst.  These  were  the  sensations  I  experienced  during 
that  first  act. 

"  Mamma?  What  has  happened  to  mamma?  "  were  my 
first  words  on  leaving  the  stage.    No  one  could  tell  me  anything. 

Croizette  came  up  to  me  and  said:  "  What's  the  matter? 
I  hardly  recognize  you,  and  you  weren't  yourself  at  all  just  now 
in  the  play." 

In  a  few  words  I  told  her  what  I  had  seen,  and  all  that  I 
had  felt.  Frederic  Febvre  sent  at  once  to  get  news,  and  the 
doctor  came  hurrying  to  me. 

18  257 


m1':mouiks  of  my  life 

"  Your  iiiolluT  had  a  fainting  fit,  madonioiselle,"  he  said, 
"  but  they  have  just  taken  her  home." 

"  It  was  her  heart,  wasn't  it?  "  I  asked,  looking  at  him. 

"  Yes,"  he  replied,  "  niadame's  heart  is  in  a  very  agitated 
state." 

"  Oh,  I  know  how  ill  she  is!  "  I  said,  and  not  being  able  to 
control  myself  any  longer,  I  burst  into  sobs.  Croizette  helped  me 
back  to  my  dressing-room.  She  was  very  kind,  for  we  had 
known  each  other  from  childhood,  and  were  very  fond  of  each 
other.  Nothing  ever  estranged  us,  in  spite  of  all  the  malicious 
gossip  of  envious  people,  and  all  the  little  miseries  due  to  vanity. 

My  dear  Mme.  Guerard  {ma  petite  dame)  took  a  cab  and 
hurried  away  to  my  mother  to  get  news  for  me.  I  put  a  little 
more  powder  on,  but  the  public,  not  knowing  what  was  taking 
place,  were  annoyed  with  me,  thinking  I  was  guilty  of  some  fresh 
caprice,  and  received  me  still  more  coldly  than  before.  It  was 
all  the  same  to  me,  as  I  was  thinking  of  something  else.  I  went 
on  saying  Mademoiselle  de  Belle  Isle's  words  (a  most  stupid  and 
tiresome  role),  but  all  the  time,  I,  Sarah,  was  waiting  for  news 
about  my  mother.  I  was  watching  for  the  return  of  ma  petite 
dame.  "  Open  the  door  on  the  0.  P.  side,  just  a  little  way," 
I  had  said  to  her,  ' '  and  make  a  sign  like  this,  if  mamma  is  bet- 
ter, and  like  that,  if  she  is  worse."  But  I  had  forgotten  which 
of  the  signs  was  to  stand  for  better,  and  when,  at  the  end  of 
the  third  act,  I  saw  Mme.  Guerard  opening  the  door  and  nod- 
ding her  head  for  "  yes,"  I  became  quite  idiotic.  It  was  in 
the  big  scene  of  the  third  act  when  Mademoiselle  de  Belle  Isle 
reproaches  the  Due  de  Bichelieu  (Bressant)  with  doing  her  such 
irreparable  harm.  The  Due  replies,  "  Why  did  you  not  say  that 
some  one  was  listening,  that  some  one  was  hidden?  "  I  ex- 
claimed :  "  It 's  Guerard  bringing  me  news !  ' '  The  public  had 
not  time  to  understand,  for  Bressant  went  on  quickly,  and  so 
saved  the  situation. 

After  an  unenthusiastic  recall,  I  heard  that  my  mother  was 
better,  but  that  she  had  had  a  very  serious  attack.  Poor  mamma, 
she  had  thought  me  such  a  fright  when  I  made  my  appearance 
on  the  stage  that  her  superb  indifference  had  given  way  to 

258 


I    RETURN    TO    THE    COMEDIE    FRANCAISE 

grievous  astonishment,  and  that,  in  its  turn,  to  rage,  on  hear- 
ing a  lady  seated  near  her  say  in  a  jeering  tone:  "  Why,  she's 
like  a  dried  bone,  this  little  Bernhardt!  " 

I  was  greatly  relieved  on  getting  the  news,  and  I  played  my 
last  act  with  confidence.  The  great  success  of  the  evening, 
though,  was  Croizette's,  who  was  charming  as  the  Marquise  de 
Prie.  ]\Iy  success,  nevertheless,  was  assured  in  the  performances 
which  followed,  and  it  became  so  marked  that  I  was  accused 
of  paying  for  applause.  I  laughed  heartily  at  this,  and  never 
even  contradicted  the  report,  as  I  have  a  horror  of  useless  words, 

I  continued  my  debuts  in  "  Junie  de  Britannicus, "  having 
for  hero  Mounet-Sully,  who  played  admirably.  In  this  deli- 
cious role  of  Junie  I  obtained  an  immense  and  incredible  suc- 
cess. 

Then,  in  1873  I  played  Cherub  in  in  ''  Le  Mariage  de  Fi- 
garo." Croizette  played  Suzanne,  and  it  was  a  real  treat  for 
the  public  to  see  the  delicious  creature  play  a  part  so  full  of 
gayety  and  charm.  Cheruhin  was  for  me  the  opportunity  of 
a  fresh  success. 

In  the  month  of  March,  1873,  Perrin  took  it  into  his  head 
to  stage  "  Dalila,"  by  Octave  Feuillet.  I  was  then  taking  the 
part  of  young  girls,  young  princesses,  or  young  boys.  My  slight 
frame,  my  pale  face,  my  delicate  aspect  marked  me  out,  for  the 
time  being,  for  the  role  of  victim.  When  suddenly  Perrin,  find- 
ing that  the  victims  attracted  the  pity  of  the  public,  and  think- 
ing that  it  was  for  this  reason  I  pleased  them,  made  the  most 
ridiculous  change  in  the  distribution  of  the  parts;  he  gave  me 
the  role  of  Dalila,  the  swarthy,  wicked,  and  ferocious  princess, 
and  to  Sophie  Croizette  he  gave  the  role  of  the  fair  young 
dying  girl. 

The  piece,  under  this  strange  distribution,  was  turned  upside 
down.  I  forced  my  nature  in  order  to  appear  the  haughty  and 
voluptuous  siren ;  I  stuffed  my  bodice  with  wadding,  and  the 
hips  under  my  skirt  with  horsehair;  but  I  kept  my  small,  thin, 
sorrowful  face.  Croizette  was  obliged  to  repress  the  advantages 
of  her  bust  by  bands  which  oppressed  and  suffocated  her,  but 
she  kept  her  pretty  plump  face  with  its  dimples. 

259 


MEMORIES    OF    MY    LIFE 

I  was  ()l)li^O(l  to  put  on  a  stroiif^  voice,  slic  to  soften  hers. 
Tti  fact,  it  was  absurd,  and  the  piece  was  (jnly  n  parlial 
success. 

After  that  I  created  "  L'Absent, "  a  pretty  piece  in  verse  by 
Eugene  Manuel,  "  Chez  rAvoeat,"  a  very  amusing  thing  in 
verse,  by  Paul  Ferrier,  where  Cocpielin  and  T  fpiarreled  beau- 
tifully. Then,  August  22d,  I  played  with  ininiense  success  the 
role  of  Andromaque.  I  shall  never  forget  the  first  perform- 
ance, in  which  IMounet-Sully  obtained  a  delirious  triumph.  Oh, 
how  fine  he  was,  ]\Iounet-Sully,  in  his  role  of  Orestel  His 
entrance,  his  fury,  his  madness,  and  the  plastic  beauty  of  this 
marvelous  artiste — how  fine  it  was!     How  magnificent! 

After  Andromaque  I  played  Ai-icie  in  "  Phedre  ";  and  that 
evening  in  this  secondary  role,  it  was  I  who  obtained,  in  reality, 
the  success  of  the  evening. 

I  took  such  a  position,  in  a  very  short  time,  at  the  Comedie, 
that  some  of  the  artistes  began  to  feel  uneasy,  and  the  manage- 
ment shared  the  anxiety.  M.  Perrin,  an  extremely  intelligent 
man,  whom  I  have  always  remembered  with  great  affection,  was 
horribly  authoritative.  I  was  authoritative,  also,  so  that  there 
was  always  perpetual  warfare  between  us.  He  wanted  to  im- 
pose his  will  on  me,  and  I  would  not  submit  to  it.  He  was 
always  ready  to  laugh  at  my  outbursts  when  they  were  against 
the  others,  but  he  w^as  furious  when  they  were  directed  against 
himself.  As  for  me,  I  will  own  that  to  get  Perrin  in  a  fury 
was  one  of  my  delights.  He  stammered  so  when  he  tried  to  talk 
quickly,  he  who  w^eighed  every  word  on  ordinary  occasions;  the 
expression  of  his  eyes,  which  was  generally  wavering,  grew 
irritated  and  deceitful,  and  his  pale,  distinguished-looking  face 
became  mottled  with  patches  of  color,  like  the  dregs  of  wine. 
His  fury  made  him  take  his  hat  off  and  put  it  on  again  fifteen 
times  in  as  many  minutes,  and  his  extremely  smooth  hair  stood 
on  end  wdth  this  mad  gallop  of  his  headgear.  Although  I  had 
certainly  arrived  at  the  age  of  discretion,  I  delighted  in  my 
wicked  mischievousness,  which  I  always  regretted  after,  but 
which  I  was  always  ready  to  recommence,  and  even  now  after  all 
the  days,  weeks,  months,  and  years  that  I  have  lived  since  then, 

260 


I  RETURN  TO  THE  COMEDIE  FRANgAISE 

it  still  gives  me  infinite  pleasure  to  play  a  joke  on  anyone.    All 
the  same,  life  at  the  Comedie  began  to  affect  my  nerves. 

I  wanted  to  play  Camille  in  "On  ne  Badine  pas  avec 
I'Amour."  The  role  was  given  to  Croizette,  I  wanted  to  play 
Celimene;  that  role  was  Croizette 's.  Perrin  was  very  partial  to 
Croizette.  He  admired  her,  and  as  she  was  very  ambitious,  she 
was  most  thoughtful  and  docile,  which  charmed  the  authorita- 
tive old  man.  She  always  obtained  everything  she  wanted,  and 
as  Sophie  Croizette  was  frank  and  straightforward,  she  often 
said  to  me  when  I  was  grumbling :  ' '  Do  as  I  do,  be  more  yield- 
ing, you  pass  your  time  in  rebelling;  I  appear  to  be  doing 
everything  that  Perrin  wants  me  to  do,  but  in  reality  I  make 
him  do  all  I  want  him  to.  Try  the  same  thing. ' '  I  accordingly 
screwed  up  my  courage  and  went  to  see  Perrin.  He  nearly 
always  said  to  me  when  we  met: 

* '  Ah,  how  do  you  do.  Mile.  Revolt  1    Are  you  calm  to-day  1  ' ' 

''  Yes,  very  calm,"  I  replied;  "  but  be  amiable  and  grant 
me  what  I  am  going  to  ask  you."  I  tried  to  be  charming,  and 
spoke  in  my  prettiest  way.  He  almost  purred  with  satisfaction, 
and  was  witty  (this  was  no  effort  to  him,  as  he  was  naturally 
so) ,  and  we  got  on  very  well  together  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour. 
I  then  made  my  petition : 

"  Let  me  play  Camille  in  '  On  ne  Badine  pas  avec 
I'Amour.'  " 

"  That's  impossible,  my  dear  child,"  he  replied;  ''  Croizette 
is  playing  it." 

"  Well,  then,  we'll  both  play  it,  wx'll  take  it  in  turns." 

''  But  Mile.  Croizette  wouldn't  like  that." 

*'  I've  spoken  to  her  about  it,  and  she  would  not  mind." 

"  You  ought  not  to  have  spoken  to  her  about  it." 

"Why  not?  " 

"  Because  the  distribution  of  parts  concerns  the  manage- 
ment and  not  the  artistes." 

He  didn't  purr  any  more,  he  only  growled.  As  for  me,  I 
was  in  a  fury,  and  a  few  min^^tes  later,  I  went  out  of  the  room, 
banging  the  door  after  me.  All  this  preyed  on  my  mind, 
though,  and  I  used  to  cry  all  night.     I  then  decided  to  take 

261 


MEMORIES    Ol-     MY    J  AVE 

a  studio  and  devote  myself  to  seulpture.  As  I  was  not  able 
to  use  my  intcllijrence  and  my  cjicrf^y  in  creating  roles  at  the 
theater,  as  1  wished,  I  ^'ave  myself  up  to  another  art,  and  began 
working  at  sculpture  with  rrantic  enthusiasm.  I  soon  made 
great  [)rogi'ess,  and  started  on  an  enormous  eomposition:  "  Af- 
ter the  Storm."  I  was  indifferent  now  to  the  theater.  Kvei'v 
morning  at  eight  my  horse  was  brought  i-ouihI  and  I  went  lor 
a  ride,  and  at  ten  I  was  back  in  my  studio,  11  Boulevard  de 
Clichy.  I  was  very  delicate,  and  my  health  suffered  from  the 
double  effort  I  was  making.  I  used  to  vomit  blood  in  the  most 
alarming  way,  and  for  hours  together  I  was  unconscious.  I 
never  went  to  the  C(miedie,  except  when  obliged  to  by  my 
duties  there.  My  friends  were  seriously  concerned  about  me, 
and  Perrin  was  told  what  was  going  on.  Finally,  urged  on 
by  the  Press  and  the  Department  of  Fine  Arts,  he  decided 
to  give  me  a  role  to  create  in  Octave  Feuillet's  play  "  Le 
Sphinx." 

The  principal  role  was  for  Croizette,  but  on  hearing  it  read, 
I  thought  the  part  destined  for  me  charming,  and  I  resolved  that 
it  should  also  be  the  principal  role.  There  would  have  to  be  two 
principal  ones,  that  was  all.  The  rehearsals  went  along  very 
smoothly  at  the  start,  but  it  soon  became  evident  that  my  role 
was  more  important  than  had  been  imagined,  and  friction  soon 
began. 

Croizette,  herself,  got  nervous;  Perrin  was  annoyed,  and  all 
this  by-play  had  the  effect  of  calming  me.  Octave  Feuillet,  a 
shrewd,  charming  man,  extremely  well  bred  and  slightly  iron- 
ical, thoroughly  enjoyed  the  skirmishes  that  took  place.  "War 
was  doomed  to  break  out,  however,  and  the  first  hostilities  came 
from  Sophie  Croizette. 

I  always  wore  in  my  bodice  three  or  four  roses  which  were 
apt  to  open  under  the  influence  of  the  warmth,  and  some  of 
the  petals  naturally  fell.  One  day,  Sophie  Croizette  slipped 
down  full  length  on  the  stage,  and  as  she  was  tall  and  not  slim, 
she  fell  rather  indecently,  and  got  up  again  ungracefully.  The 
stifled  laughter  of  some  of  the  subordinate  persons  present 
stung  her  to  the  quick,  and  turning  to  me,  she  said :     "  It 's  your 

262 


I    RETURN    TO    THE    COMEDIE    FRAN^AISE 

fault,  your  roses  fall  and  make  everyone  slip."  I  began  to 
laugh. 

"  Three  petals  of  my  roses  have  fallen,"  I  replied,  "  and 
there  they  all  three  are  by  the  armchair  on  the  prompt  side,  and 
you  fell  on  the  0.  P.  side.  It  isn't  my  fault,  therefore;  it  is 
just  your  own  awkwardness."  The  discussion  continued  and 
was  rather  heated  on  both  sides.  Two  clans  were  formed,  the 
"  Croizettists, "  and  the**  Bernhardtists,"war  was  declared,  not 
between  Sophie  and  me,  but  between  our  respective  admirers 
and  detractors.  The  rumor  of  these  little  quarrels  spread  in  the 
world  outside  the  theater  and  the  public,  too,  began  to  form 
clans.  Croizette  had  on  her  side  all  the  bankers  and  all  the 
people  who  were  sutfering  from  congestion.  I  had  all  the 
artists,  the  students,  dying  folks,  and  the  failures.  When  once 
war  was  declared  there  was  no  drawing  back  from  the  strife. 
The  first,  the  most  fierce,  and  the  definitive  battle  was  fought 
over  the  moon. 

We  had  begun  the  full-dress  rehearsals.  In  the  third  act  the 
scene  was  laid  in  a  forest  glade.  In  the  middle  of  the  stage  was 
a  huge  rock  upon  which  was  Blanche  (Croizette)  kissing  Savigny 
(Delaunay),  who  was  supposed  to  be  my  husband.  I  {Berthe 
de  Savigny)  had  to  arrive  by  a  little  bridge  over  a  stream  of 
water.  The  glade  was  bathed  in  moonlight.  Croizette  had  just 
played  her  part  and  her  kiss  had  been  greeted  with  a  burst  of 
applause  by  the  house.  This  was  rather  daring  in  those  days 
for  the  Comedie  Frangaise. 

Suddenly  a  fresh  burst  of  applause  was  heard.  Amazement 
could  be  read  on  some  faces,  and  Perrin  stood  up  terrified.  I 
was  crossing  the  bridge,  my  pale  face  ravaged  with  grief,  and  the 
sortie  de  hal  which  was  intended  to  cover  my  shoulders  was 
dragging  along,  just  held  by  my  limp  fingers;  my  arms  were 
hanging  down  as  though  despair  had  taken  the  use  out  of  them. 
I  was  bathed  in  the  white  light  of  the  moon  and  the  effect,  it 
seems,  was  striking  and  deeply  impressive.  A  nasal,  aggressive 
voice  cried  out :  * '  One  moon  effect  is  enough.  Turn  it  off  for 
Mile.  Bernhardt." 

I  sprang  forward  to  the  front  of  the  stage.     ' '  Excuse  me,  M. 

263 


MI^MOIUKS    OF    MV    JAVV: 

Perriii,"  I  oxclaimcd,  "  you  had  no  ri^'ht  to  take  my  moon  away. 
The  manuscript  reads:  '  licrtlic  advances,  pale,  convulsed  with 
emotion,  the  rays  of  the  moon  falling  on  her  '.  ,  .  I  am  {)alo  and 
I  am  convulsed  ...  I  must  have  my  moon !  .  .  . " 

"It  is  impossible,"  roared  Perrin.  "  Mile.  Croizette's 
'  You  love  ine,  then  !  '  and  her  kiss  must  have  this  moonli^dit. 
She  is  playing  the  Sphinx,  that  is  the  chief  part  in  the  play  and 
we  must  leave  her  the  principal  effect,  ..." 

"  Very  well,  then,  give  Croizette  a  brilliant  moon,  and 
give  me  a  less  brilliant  one.  .1  don't  mind  that,  but  I  must  have 
my  moon."  All  the  artistes  and  all  the  employes  of  the  theater 
put  their  heads  in  at  all  the  doorways  and  openings  both  on  the 
stage  and  in  the  house  itself.  The  "  Croizettists  "  and  the 
"  Bernhardists  "  began  to  comment  on  the  discussion. 

Octave  Feuillet  was  appealed  to,  and  got  up  in  his  turn. 

"  I  grant  that  Mile.  Croizette  is  very  beautiful  in  her  moon 
effect.  ]\Ille.  Sarah  Bernhardt  is  ideal,  too,  with  her  ray  of 
moonlight.     I  want  the  moon,  therefore,  for  both  of  them." 

Perrin  could  not  control  his  anger.  There  was  a  discussion 
between  the  author  and  the  director,  followed  by  others  between 
the  artistes,  and  between  the  doorkeeper  and  the  journalists  who 
were  questioning  him.  The  rehearsal  was  interrupted;  I  de- 
clared that  I  Avould  not  play  the  part  if  I  did  not  have  my  moon. 
For  the  next  two  days  I  received  no  notice  of  another  rehearsal 
but  through  Croizette  I  heard  that  they  were  trying  my 
role  of  Berth  e  privately.  They  had  given  it  to  a  young  woman 
whom  we  had  nicknamed  "  the  Crocodile,"  because  she  followed 
all  the  rehearsals  just  as  that  animal  follows  boats — she  was  al- 
ways hoping  to  snatch  up  some  role  that  might  happen  to  be 
thrown  overboard.  Octave  Feuillet  refused  to  accept  the  change 
of  artistes  and  he  came  himself  to  fetch  me,  accompanied  by 
Delaunay,  who  had  negotiated  matters. 

"  It's  all  settled,"  he  said,  kissing  my  hands,  "  there  will  be 
a  moon  for  both  of  you." 

The  first  night  was  a  triumph  for  both  Croizette  and  for 
me.  The  party  strife  between  the  two  clans  waxed  warmer  and 
warmer,  and  this  added  to  our  success  and  amused  us  both  im- 

264 


I    RETURN    TO    THE    COMEDIE    FRANgAISE 

mensely,  for  Croizette  was  always  a  delightful  friend  and 
a  loyal  comrade.  She  worked  for  her  own  ends,  but  never 
against  anyone  else. 

After  the  ' '  Sphinx  ' '  I  played  a  pretty  piece  in  one  act  by  a 
young  pupil  of  the  Polytechnical  School,  Louis  Denayrouse — 
"  La  Belle  Paule. "  This  author  has  now  become  a  renowned 
scientific  man  and  has  renounced  his  poetry. 

I  had  begged  Perrin  to  give  me  a  month's  holiday,  but  he 
refused  energetically,  and  compelled  me  to  take  part  in  the  re- 
hearsal of  ' '  Zaire, ' '  during  the  trying  months  of  June  and  July, 
and  in  spite  of  my  reluctance,  announced  the  first  performance 
for  the  6th  of  August.  That  year  it  was  fearfully  hot  in  Paris. 
I  believe  that  Perrin,  who  could  not  tame  me  alive,  had,  without 
really  any  bad  intention,  but  by  pure  autocracy,  the  desire  to 
tame  me  dead.  Doctor  Parrot  went  to  see  him  and  told  him 
that  my  state  of  weakness  was  such  that  it  would  be  positively 
dangerous  for  me  to  act  during  the  trying  heat.  Perrin  would 
hear  nothing  of  it.  Then,  furious  at  the  obstinacy  of  this  in- 
tellectual bourgeois,  I  swore  I  would  play  on  to  the  death. 

Often,  when  I  was  a  child,  I  wished  to  kill  myself  in  order  to 
vex  others.  I  remember  once  having  swallowed  the  contents  of 
a  large  ink  pot  after  being  compelled  by  mamma  to  swallow  a 
"  panade  "^  because  she  imagined  that  panades  were  good  for 
the  health.  Our  nurse  had  told  her  my  dislike  to  this  form  of 
nourishment,  adding  that  every  morning  I  emptied  the  panade 
into  the  slop  pail.  I  had,  of  course,  a  very  bad  stomach  ache, 
and  screamed  out  in  pain.  I  cried  to  mamma:  **  It  is  you  who 
have  killed  me  " — and  my  poor  mother  wept.  She  never  knew 
the  truth,  but  they  never  again  made  me  swallow  anything 
against  my  will. 

Well,  after  so  many  years  had  gone  over  my  head,  I  ex- 
perienced the  same  bitter  and  childish  sentiment.  "  I  don't 
care,"  I  said,  "  I  shall  certainly  fall  senseless,  vomiting  blood, 
and  perhaps  I  shall  die!     And  it  will  serve  Perrin  right.     He 

>  Bread  stewed  a  long  time  in  water  and  flavored  with  a  little  butter  and 
sugar;  a  kind  of  "  sops  "  given  to  children  in  France. 

265 


MKMOUIES    OF    MV     Lll'i: 

will  be  furi(tus!  "  Yes,  that  is  what  I  thought.  I  atii,  at 
times,  very  fdolisli.  Why?  I  don't  know  how  to  ('X[)laiii  it,  hut 
1  admit  it. 

The  6th  of  August,  therefore,  I  played,  iti  tropical  heat,  the 
part  of  Zaire.  The  entire  audience  was  bathed  in  [)ers{)iration. 
I  saw  the  spectators  through  a  mist.  Tlic  piece,  badly  staged  as 
regards  scenery,  but  very  well  presented  as  regards  costumes, 
w^as  particularly  well  played  by  Mounot-Sully,  Orosmauc,  La- 
roehe,  Xercstan,  and  myself — Zaire — and  obtained  an  immense 
success. 

I  was  determined  to  faint,  determined  to  vomit  blood,  de- 
termined to  die,  in  order  to  enrage  Perrin.  I  gave  myself  en- 
tirely up  to  it.  I  had  sobbed,  I  had  loved,  I  had  suffered,  and  I 
had  been  stabbed  by  the  poignard  of  Orosmane,  uttering  a  true 
cry  of  suffering,  for  I  had  felt  the  steel  penetrate  my  brea.st; 
then  falling  panting,  dying,  on  the  Oriental  divan,  I  had  meant 
to  die  in  reality,  and  dared  scarcely  move  my  arms,  convinced  as 
I  was  that  I  was  in  my  death  agony  and  somewhat  afraid,  I  must 
admit,  at  having  succeeded  in  playing  such  a  nasty  trick  on 
Perrin.  But  my  surprise  was  great  when  the  curtain  fell  at  the 
close  of  the  piece,  and  I  got  up  quickly  to  answer  to  the  call  and 
salute  the  public  without  languor,  without  fainting,  ready  to 
recommence  the  piece. 

And  I  marked  this  performance  with  a  little  white  stone — 
for  that  day  I  learned  that  my  vital  force  was  at  the  service  of 
my  intellect.  I  had  desired  to  follow  the  impulse  of  my  brain, 
whose  conceptions  seemed  to  me  to  be  too  forceful  for  my  phys- 
ical strength  to  carry  out  and  I  found  myself,  having  given 
out  all  of  which  I  was  capable — and  more — in  perfect  equi- 
librium. 

Then  I  saw  the  possibility  of  the  longed-for  future. 

I  had  fancied,  and  up  to  this  performance  of  Zaire  I  had 
always  heard,  and  read  in  the  papers  that  my  voice  was  pretty, 
but  weak ;  that  my  gestures  were  gracious,  but  vague ;  that  my 
supple  movements  lacked  authority,  and  that  my  glance  lost  in 
heavenward  contemplation,  could  not  tame  the  lion  (the  public). 
I  thought  then  of  all  that.     I  had  received  proof  that  I  could 

266 


I    RETURN    TO    THE    COMEDIE    FRANgAISE 

count  on  my  physical  strength,  for  I  had  commenced  the  per- 
formance of  Zaire  in  such  a  state  of  weakness  that  it  was  easy 
to  predict  that  I  should  not  finish  the  first  act  without  fainting. 

On  the  other  hand,  although  the  role  was  easy,  it  re(iuired 
two  or  three  shrieks  which  might  have  provoked  the  vomiting  of 
blood  which  frequently  troubled  me  at  that  time.  That  evening, 
therefore,  I  acquired  the  certainty  that  I  could  count  on  the 
strength  of  my  vocal  cords,  for  I  had  uttered  my  shrieks  with 
real  rage  and  suffering,  hoping  to  break  something  in  my  wild 
desire  to  be  revenged  on  Perrin. 

Thus,  this  little  comedy  turned  to  my  profit.  Not  being  able 
to  die  at  will,  I  faced  about  and  resolved  to  be  strong,  vivacious, 
and  active,  to  the  great  annoyance  of  some  of  my  contemporaries, 
who  had  put  up  with  me  only  because  they  thought  I  would  soon 
die,  but  who  began  to  hate  me  as  soon  as  they  acquired  the  con- 
viction that  I  should  perhaps  live  for  a  long  time.  I  will  give 
only  one  example,  related  by  Alexandre  Dumas,  fils,  who  was 
present  at  the  death  of  his  intimate  friend,  Charles  Narrey,  and 
heard  his  dying  words:  "  I  am  content  to  die  because  I  shall 
hear  no  more  of  Sarah  Bernhardt  and  of  the  great  Frangais  " 
(Ferdinand  de  Lesseps). 


267 


CHAPTER   XVIII 

A   HOLIDAY   AND   NEW   SUCCESSES 

)VT  this  revelation  of  my  strenj?th  rendered  more  pain- 
ful to  me  the  sort  of  idlen&ss  to  which  Perrin  con- 
demned me.  In  fact,  after  Zaire,  I  remained  months 
^ii^hk^sxU  without  anything  of  importance — playing  here  and 
there.  Then,  discouraged  and  disgusted  with  the  theater,  I  re- 
newed my  passion  for  sculpture.  After  my  ride  I  took  a  light 
repast  and  then  fled  to  my  studio  where  I  remained  till  the 
evening. 

Friends  came  to  see  me,  sat  around  me,  played  the  piano, 
sang,  warmly  discussed  politics — for  in  this  modest  studio  I  re- 
ceived the  most  illustrious  men  of  all  parties.  Several  ladies 
came  to  take  tea,  which  was  abominable  and  badly  served ;  but  I 
did  not  care  about  that,  I  was  absorbed  by  that  admirable  art. 
I  saw  nothing,  or  to  speak  more  truly.  T  would  not  see  anji;hing. 

At  this  time  I  was  making  the  bust  of  an  adorable  young 
girl,  Mile.  Emmy  de  X .  Her  slow  and  measured  con- 
versation had  an  infinite  charm.  She  was  a  foreigner  but  spoke 
French  so  perfectly  that  I  was  stupefied.  She  smoked  a  cigarette 
all  the  time  and  had  a  profound  disdain  for  those  who  did  not 
understand  her. 

I  made  the  sittings  last  as  long  as  possible,  for  I  felt  that  this 
delicate  spirit  was  imbuing  me  with  her  science  of  seeing  into 
the  beyond,  and  often  in  the  serious  steps  of  my  life  I  have 
said  to  myself :  ' '  What  would  Emmy  have  done  ?  .  .  .  What 
would  she  have  thought?  ..." 

I  was  somewhat  surprised  one  day  by  the  visit  of  Adolphe  de 

268 


A    HOLIDAY    AND    NEW    SUCCESSES 

Rothschild,  who  came  to  give  me  an  order  for  his  bust.  I  com- 
menced the  work  immediately.  But  I  had  not  properly  con- 
sidered this  admirable  man — he  had  nothing  of  the  aesthetic,  but 
the  contrary.  I  tried,  nevertheless,  and  I  brought  all  my  will  to 
bear  in  order  to  succeed  in  this  first  order  of  which  I  was  so 
proud.  Twice  I  dashed  the  bust  which  I  had  commenced  on  the 
ground,  and  after  a  third  attempt  I  definitely  gave  it  up,  stam- 
mering idiotic  excuses  which  apparently  did  not  convince  my 
model,  for  he  never  returned  to  me.  When  we  met,  in  our 
morning  rides,  he  saluted  me  with  a  cold  and  rather  severe  bow. 

After  this  defeat  I  undertook  the  bust  of  a  beautiful  child, 
Mile.  Multon,  a  delicious  little  American  whom  later  on  I  came 
across  in  Denmark,  married  and  the  mother  of  a  family — but 
still  as  pretty  as  ever.  Then  I  made  a  bust  of  Mile,  Hoequigny, 
that  admirable  person  who  was  keeper  of  the  linen  in  the 
hospital  cars  during  the  war  and  who  had  so  efficiently  helped 
me  and  my  wounded  at  that  time. 

Then  I  undertook  the  bust  of  my  yoimg  sister  Regina,  who 
had,  alas,  a  weak  chest.  A  more  perfect  face  was  never  made  by 
the  hand  of  God!  Two  leonine  eyes,  shaded  by  long  brown 
lashes — so  long  that  they  made  a  shadow  on  her  cheeks  when  she 
lowered  them — a  slender  nose  with  delicate  nostrils,  a  tiny 
mouth,  a  willful  chin  and  a  pearly  skin,  crowned  by  meshes  of 
sun  rays,  for  I  have  never  seen  hair  so  blond  and  so  pale,  so 
bright  and  so  silky.  But  this  admirable  face  was  without 
charm:  the  expression  was  hard  and  the  mouth  without  smile. 
I  tried  my  best  to  reproduce  this  beautiful  face  in  marble,  but  it 
needed  a  great  artist  and  I  was  only  a  humble  amateur. 

When  I  exhibited  the  bust  of  my  little  sister,  it  was  five 
months  after  her  death,  which  occurred  after  a  six  months'  ill- 
ness full  of  false  hopes.  I  had  taken  her  to  my  home.  No.  4 
Rue  de  Rome,  to  the  little  entresol  which  I  had  inhabited  since 
the  terrible  fire  which  had  destroyed  my  furniture,  my  books, 
my  pictures,  and  all  my  scant  possessions.  This  apartment  in  the 
Rue  de  Rome  was  small.  My  bedroom  was  very  tiny.  The  big 
bamboo  bed  took  up  all  the  room.  In  front  of  the  window  was 
my  coffin,  where  I  frequently  installed  myself  to  learn  my  parts. 

269 


MEMORIES    OF    MV    LIFE 

'I'lici-crorc  wlirii  I  took  my  sister  to  my  lioiiu'  I  found  it  quit*; 
iuitural  to  sleep  every  night  in  this  little  bed  of  white  satin  which 
was  to  be  my  last  couch,  and  to  put  my  sister  in  the  big  bamboo 
bed  under  the  lace  hangings.  She  herself  found  it  quite  natural, 
also,  for  I  would  not  leave  her  at  night  and  it  was  impossible  to 
put  another  bed  in  this  room,  liesides,  she  was  accustomed  to 
my  coffin. 

Three  days  after  this  new  arrangement  my  manicure  came 
into  the  room  to  do  my  hands  and  my  sister  asked  her  to  enter 
quietly  because  I  was  still  asleep.  The  woman  turned  her  head, 
believing  that  I  was  asleep  in  the  armchair,  but  seeing  me  in  my 
coffin  she  rushed  away,  shrieking  wildly.  From  that  moment  all 
Paris  knew  that  I  slept  in  my  coffin,  and  gossip  with  its  thistle- 
down wings  took  flight  in  all  directions. 

I  was  so  accustomed  to  the  turpitudes  which  were  written 
about  me  that  I  did  not  trouble  about  this.  But  at  the  death  of 
my  poor  little  sister  a  tragic-comic  incident  happened :  when 
the  undertaker's  men  came  to  the  room  to  take  away  the  body 
they  found  themselves  confronted  with  two  coffins,  and  losing 
his  wits,  the  master  of  ceremonies  sent  in  haste  for  a  second 
hearse.  I  was  at  that  moment  with  my  mother,  who  had  lost 
consciousness,  and  I  got  back  just  in  time  to  prevent  the  black- 
clothed  men  taking  away  my  coffin.  The  second  hearse  was  sent 
back,  but  the  papers  got  hold  of  this  incident.  I  was  blamed, 
criticised,  etc. 

After  the  death  of  my  sister  I  fell  seriously  ill.  I  had  tended 
her  day  and  night,  and  this,  in  addition  to  the  grief  I  was  suf- 
fering, made  me  ana?mic.  I  was  ordered  to  the  South  for  two 
months.  I  promised  to  go  to  Mentone  and  I  turned  immediately 
toward  Bretagne,  the  country  of  my  dreams.  I  had  with  me 
my  little  boy,  my  butler  and  his  wife.  My  poor  Guerard,  who 
had  helped  me  to  tend  my  sister,  was  in  bed  ill  with  phlebitis. 
I  would  have  much  liked  to  have  had  her  with  me. 

Oh,  the  lovely  holiday  that  we  had  there !  Thirty-five  years 
ago  Bretagne  was  wild,  inhospitable,  but  as  beautiful — perhaps 
more  beautiful  than  at  present,  for  it  was  not  furrowed  with 
roads,  its  green  slopes  were  not  dotted  with  small  white  villas, 

270 


SARAH   BERNHARDT   IN   HER   COFFIN. 


A    HOLIDAY    AND    NEW    SUCCESSES 

its  inhabitants — the  men — were  not  dressed  in  the  abominable 
modern  trousers,  nor  the  women  in  the  miserable  little  hat  and 
feathers.  No,  the  Bretons  proudly  displayed  their  well-shaped 
legs  in  gaiters  or  rough  stockings,  their  feet  shod  with  buckled 
shoes,  their  long  hair  was  brought  down  on  the  temples,  hiding 
any  awkward  ears,  and  giving  to  the  face  a  nobility  which  the 
modern  style  does  not  admit  of.  The  women,  with  their  short 
skirts,  which  showed  their  slender  ankles  in  black  stockings,  and 
with  their  small  heads  under  the  wings  of  the  headdress,  re- 
sembled seagulls.  I  am  not  speaking,  of  course,  of  the  inhabi- 
tants of  Pont  I'Abbe  or  of  Bourg  de  Batz,  who  have  entirely 
different  aspects. 

I  visited  nearly  the  whole  of  Bretagne  and  stayed  especially 
at  Finistere.  The  Pointe  du  Raz  enchanted  me.  I  remained 
twelve  days  at  Audierne,  in  the  house  of  the  Pere  Batifoule,  so 
big  and  so  fat  that  they  had  been  obliged  to  cut  a  piece  out  of 
the  table  to  take  in  his  immense  abdomen.  I  set  out  every  morn- 
ing at  ten  o'clock.  My  butler  Claude  himself  prepared  my 
lunch,  which  he  packed  up  very  carefully  in  three  little  baskets ; 
then  climbing  into  the  comical  vehicle  of  the  Pere  Batifoule,  my 
little  boy  driving,  we  set  out  for  the  Bale  des  Trepasses.  Ah, 
that  oeautiful  and  mysterious  shore,  all  bristling  with  rocks,  all 
pale  and  sorrowful !  The  lighthouse  keeper  would  be  looking 
out  for  me  and  would  come  to  meet  me.  Claude  gave  him  my 
provisions  with  a  thousand  recommendations  as  to  the  manner 
of  cooking  the  eggs,  warming  up  the  lentils,  and  toasting  the 
bread.  He  carried  off  everything,  then  returned  with  two  old 
sticks  in  which  he  had  stuck  nails  to  make  them  into  picks  and 
we  recommenced  the  terrifying  ascension  of  the  Pointe  du  Raz, 
a  kind  of  labyrinth  full  of  disagreeable  surprises;  of  crevasses 
across  which  we  had  to  jump,  over  the  gaping  and  roaring  abyss; 
of  arches  and  tunnels  through  which  we  had  to  crawl  on  all 
fours,  having  overhead — touching  even — a  rock  which  had  fallen 
there  in  unknown  ages  and  was  only  held  in  equilibrium  by  some 
inexplicable  phenomena.  Then,  all  at  once,  the  way  became  so 
narrow  that  it  was  impossible  to  walk  straight  forward ;  we  had 
to  turn  and  put  our  backs  against  the  rock  and  advance  with 

271 


MEMORIES    OF    MV    TJFE 

both  arms  spread  out  and  fingers  holding  on  to  tlif  few  pro- 
jections of  the  rock. 

When  I  tliink  of  wlijit  I  did  in  those  inoiiicnls,  T  trembh',  for 
I  have  always  been  and  still  am,  subject  to  fits  of  dizziness.  I 
went  over  this  patli  alon<,'  a  steep  j)reeipitous  rock,  thirty  meters 
high,  in  the  midst  of  tlie  infernal  noise  of  the  sea,  at  this  place 
eternally  rurious  and  raging  fearfully  against  indestructible 
rock.  And  1  must  have  taken  a  mad  pleasure  in  it,  for  I  ac- 
complished this  journey  five  times  in  eleven  days. 

After  this  elialleiige  thrown  down  to  reason,  we  descended 
and  installed  ourselves  in  the  Baie  des  Trepasses.  After  a  bath 
Me  had  lunch  and  I  painted  till  sunset. 

The  first  day  there  was  nobody  there.  The  second  day  a  child 
came  to  look  at  us.  The  third  day  about  ten  children  stood 
around  asking  for  sous.  I  was  foolish  enough  to  give  them 
some,  and  the  following  day  there  was  a  crowd  of  twenty  or 
thirty  boys,  some  of  them  from  sixteen  to  eighteen  years  old. 

I  had  the  ugly  band  routed  by  Claude  and  the  lighthouse 
keeper  and  as  they  took  to  throwing  stones  at  us  I  pointed  my 
gun  at  the  little  troop.  They  fled  howling.  Only  two  boys, 
of  six  and  ten  years  of  age,  stayed.  We  did  not  take  any  notice 
of  them  and  I  installed  myself  a  little  farther  on,  sheltered  by 
a  rock  which  kept  the  wind  away.  The  two  boys  followed. 
Claude  and  the  lighthouse  keeper  were  on  the  lookout  to  see 
that  the  boys  did  not  come  back.  They  were  stooping  down  over 
the  extreme  point  of  the  rock  which  was  above  our  heads. 
They  seemed  peaceful,  when  suddenly  my  young  maid  jumped 
up  :  "  Horrors !  Madame !  Horrors !  They  are  throwing  lice 
down  on  us!  "  And,  in  fact,  the  two  little  good-for-nothings 
had  been  for  the  last  hour  searching  for  all  the  vermin  they 
could  find  on  themselves  and  throwing  them  on  us. 

I  had  the  two  little  beggars  seized  and  they  got  a  well- 
deserved  correction. 

There  was  a  crevasse  which  was  called  the  "  Enfer  du 
Plogoff. "  I  had  a  wild  desire  to  go  down  this  crevasse,  but  the 
guardian  dissuaded  me,  constantly  giving  as  objections  the 
danger  of  slipping  and  his  fear  of  responsibility  in  case  of  ac- 

272 


A    HOLIDAY    AND    NEW    SUCCESSES 

cident.  I  persisted,  nevertheless,  in  my  intention,  and  after  a 
thousand  promises,  in  addition  to  a  certificate  to  testify  that 
notwithstanding  the  supplications  of  the  guardian  and  the  cer- 
tainty of  the  danger  that  I  ran,  I  had  persisted  all  the  same,  etc., 
and  after  having  made  a  small  present  of  ten  louis  to  the  brave 
man,  I  obtained  the  facilities  for  descending  the  "  Enfer  du 
Plogoff  " — that  is  to  say  a  wide  belt  to  which  a  strong  rope  was 
fastened.  I  buckled  this  belt  round  my  waist,  which  was  then 
so  slender  (forty- three  centimeters)  that  it  was  necessary  to 
make  additional  holes  in  order  to  fasten  it. 

Then  the  guardian  put  on  each  of  my  hands  a  wooden  shoe, 
the  sole  of  which  was  bordered  with  big  nails  jutting  out  two 
centimeters.  I  stared  at  these  wooden  shoes  and  asked  for  an 
explanation  before  putting  them  on. 

"  Well,"  said  the  guardian  Lucas,  "  when  I  let  you  down, 
as  you  are  no  fatter  than  a  herringbone,  you  will  get  shaken 
about  in  the  crevasse  and  will  risk  breaking  your  bones ;  while  if 
you  have  the  sabots  on  your  hands  you  can  protect  yourself 
against  the  walls  by  putting  out  your  arms  to  the  right  and  the 
left,  according  as  you  are  shaken  up  against  them.  I  do  not  say 
that  you  will  not  have  a  few — bangs — but  that  is  your  own  fault, 
you  will  go.  Now,  listen,  my  little  lady :  when  you  are  at  the 
bottom,  on  the  rock  in  the  middle,  mind  you  don't  slip,  for  that 
is  the  most  dangerous  of  all ;  if  you  fell  in  the  water  I  might  pull 
the  rope,  for  sure,  but  I  don't  answer  for  anything.  In  that 
cursed  whirlpool  of  water  you  might  be  caught  between  two 
stones  and  it  would  be  no  use  for  me  to  pull — I  should  break  the 
rope  and  that  would  be  all." 

Then  the  man  grew  pale  and  making  the  sign  of  the  cross,  he 
leaned  toward  me,  murmuring  in  a  faint  voice :  "It  is  the 
shipwrecked  ones  who  are  there,  under  the  stones,  down  there. 
It  is  they  who  dance  in  the  moonlight  on  the  shore  of  the  dead 
('  Trepasses  ').  It  is  they  who  put  the  slippery  seaweed  on 
the  little  rock,  down  there,  in  order  to  make  travelers  slip,  and 
then  they  drag  them  to  the  bottom  of  the  sea."  Then,  looking 
me  in  the  eyes,  he  said:     "  Will  you  go  down  all  the  same?  " 

"  Yes,  certainly,  Pere  Lucas,  I  will  go  down  at  once." 
19  273 


MEMORIES    OF    MV    TJFE 

l\ry  little  ])()y  Wiis  l)uil(1ing  forts  and  castles  on  the  sand  with 
Felieie.  Only  Claude  was  with  nie.  He  did  not  say  a  word, 
knowing,'  my  unbridled  desire  to  meet  danj^er.  lie  looked  to  see 
if  the  belt  was  properly  fastened,  and  asked  my  permission  to  tie 
the  tonjjrue  of  tlie  belt  firmly,  then  he  passed  a  stron<^  cord  several 
times  around  to  strengtlien  the  leather,  and  I  was  let  down,  sus- 
pended by  the  rope  in  the  blackness  of  the  crevasse.  I  extended 
my  arms  to  the  rifjht  and  the  left,  as  the  prnardian  had  told  me  to 
do,  and  even  then  I  got  my  elbows  scraped.  At  first  I  thought 
that  the  noise  I  heard  was  the  reverberation  of  the  echo  of  the 
blows  of  the  Avooden  shoes  against  the  edges  of  the  crevasse  but 
suddenly  a  frightful  din  filled  my  ears :  successive  firings  of  can- 
non, strident,  ringing,  crackings  of  a  whip,  plaintive  hqwlings 
and  repeated  monotonous  cries  as  of  a  hundred  fishermen  draw- 
ing up  a  net  filled  with  fish,  seaweed,  and  pebbles.  All  the  noises 
mingled  under  the  mad  violence  of  the  wind.  I  became  furious 
with  myself,  for  I  was  really  afraid.  The  lower  I  went,  the 
louder  the  bowlings  became  in  my  ears  and  my  brain;  and  my 
heart  beat  the  order  of  retreat.  The  wind  swept  through  the 
narrow  tunnel  and  blew  in  all  directions  round  my  legs,  my 
body,  my  neck.  A  horrible  fear  took  possession  of  me.  I 
descended  slowly  and  at  each  little  shock  I  felt  that  the  four 
hands  holding  me  above  had  come  to  a  knot.  I  tried  to  re- 
member the  number  of  knots,  for  it  seemed  to  me  that  I  was 
making  no  progress.  Then,  filled  with  terror,  I  opened  my 
mouth  to  call  out  to  be  drawn  up  again,  but  the  wind,  which 
danced  in  mad  folly  around  me,  filled  my  mouth  and  drove  back 
the  words.  I  was  nearly  suffocated.  Then  I  shut  my  eyes  and 
ceased  to  struggle.  I  would  not  even  put  out  my  arms.  A  few 
moments  after  I  pulled  up  my  legs  in  unspeakable  terror.  The 
sea  had  just  seized  them  in  a  brutal  embrace  which  had  wet  me 
through.  However,  I  recovered  courage,  for  now  I  could  see 
clearly.  I  stretched  out  my  legs  and  found  myself  upright  on 
the  little  rock.  It  is  true  it  was  very  slippery.  I  took  hold  of 
a  large  ring  fixed  in  the  vault  which  overhung  the  rock  and 
looked  round.  The  long  and  narrow  crevasse  grew  suddenly 
larger  at  its  base  and  terminated  in  a  lai'ge  grotto  which  looked 

274 


A    HOLIDAY    AND    NEW    SUCCESSES 

out  over  the  open  sea;  but  the  entrance  of  this  grotto  was  pro- 
tected by  a  quantity  of  both  large  and  small  rocks  which  could 
be  seen  for  a  distance  of  a  league  in  front  on  the  surface  of  the 
water — which  explains  the  terrible  noise  of  the  sea  dashing  into 
the  labyrinth  and  the  possibility  of  standing  upright  on  a  rock 
with  the  wild  dance  of  the  waves  all  around. 

However,  I  saw  very  plainly  that  a  false  step  might  be  fatal 
in  the  brutal  whirl  of  waters  which  came  rushing  in  from  afar 
with  dizzy  speed  and  broke  against  the  insurmountable  obstacle, 
and  in  receding  dashed  against  other  waves  which  followed 
them.  From  this  cause  proceeded  the  perpetual  fusillade  of 
waters  which  rushed  into  the  crevasse  without  danger  of  drown- 
ing me. 

The  night  commenced  to  fall,  and  I  experienced  a  fearful 
anguish  in  discovering  on  the  crest  of  a  little  rock  two  enor- 
mous eyes  which  looked  fixedly  at  me.  Then  a  little  farther, 
near  a  tuft  of  seaweed,  two  more  large,  fixed  eyes.  I  saw  no 
body  to  these  beings — nothing  but  the  eyes.  I  thought  for  a 
minute  that  I  was  losing  my  senses,  and  I  bit  my  tongue  till 
the  blood  came,  then  I  pulled  violently  at  the  rope,  as  I  had 
agreed  to  do,  in  order  to  give  the  signal  for  being  drawn  up. 
I  felt  the  trembling  joy  of  the  four  hands  pulling  me,  and  my 
feet  lost  their  hold  as  I  was  lifted  up  by  my  guardians.  The 
eyes  were  lifted  up  also,  troubled  to  see  me  go.  And  while  I 
mounted  through  the  air  I  saw  nothing  but  eyes  everywhere — 
eyes  throwing  out  long  feelers  to  reach  me.  I  had  never  seen 
an  octopus,  and  I  did  not  even  know  of  the  existence  of  these 
horrible  beasts. 

During  the  ascension,  which  seemed  to  me  interminable,  I 
imagined  I  saw  these  beasts  along  the  walls,  and  my  teeth  were 
chattering  when  I  was  drawn  on  to  the  green  hillock. 

I  immediately  told  the  guardian  the  cause  of  my  terror,  and 
he  crossed  himself,  saying:  "  Those  were  the  eyes  of  the  ship- 
wrecked ones.    No  one  must  stay  there!  " 

I  knew  very  well  that  they  were  not  the  eyes  of  shipwrecked 
ones,  but  I  did  not  know  what  they  were.  For  I  thought  I 
had  seen  some  strange  beasts  that  no  one  had  ever  seen  before. 

275 


MEMORIES    OE    MV    LIFE 

It  was  only  at  the  liute-l,  with  Perc  Batifoule,  that  I  learued 
to  know  the  octopus. 

Only  five  more  days  of  holiday  were  Icl't  to  iiic,  and  I  passed 
then  I  at  the  Pointe  du  Ka/,  seated  in  a  niche  of  rock  which  has 
been  since  named  "  Sarah  Bernhardt 's  armchair."  Many  tour- 
ists have  sat  there  since,  and  many  iiave  sent  me  verses. 

I  returned  to  Paris  when  my  holiday  was  finished.  But  I 
was  still  very  weak  and  could  not  take  up  my  work  until 
toward  the  month  of  November.  I  played  all  the  pieces  of  ray 
repertoire,  and  I  was  annoyed  at  not  having  any  new  roles. 

One  day  Perrin  came  to  see  me  in  my  sculptor's  studio. 
He  began  to  talk  at  first  about  my  busts;  he  told  me  that  I  ought 
to  do  his  medallion,  and  asked  me,  incidentally,  if  I  knew  the 
role  of  Fhedre.  Up  to  this  time  I  had  played  only  Aricie,  and 
the  part  of  Phedre  seemed  formidable  to  me.  I  had,  however, 
studied  it  for  my  own  pleasure. 

"  Yes,  I  know  the  role  of  Phedre.  But  I  think  if  ever  I  had 
to  play  it  I  should  die  of  fright." 

He  laughed  with  his  silly  little  laugh  and  said  to  me,  squeez- 
ing my  hand  (for  he  was  very  gallant)  :  "  "Work  it  up ;  I  think 
that  you  will  play  it." 

In  fact,  eight  days  after  I  was  called  to  the  directorial  of- 
fice, and  Perrin  told  me  that  he  had  announced  "  Phedre  "  for 
the  21st  of  December,  the  fete  of  Racine,  with  I\Ille.  Sarah  Bern- 
hardt in  the  part  of  Phedre.    I  thought  I  should  fall. 

"  Well,  but  what  about  Mile.  Rousseil?  "  I  asked. 

"  ]\Ille.  Rousseil  wishes  to  have  the  Committee  promise  that 
she  shall  become  an  Associate  in  the  month  of  January,  and 
the  Committee,  which  will  without  doubt  appoint  her,  refuses 
to  make  this  promise,  and  declares  that  this  demand  is  like  a 
threat.  But  perhaps  Mile.  Rousseil  will  change  her  plans,  and 
in  that  case  you  will  play  Aricie  and  I  will  change  the  bill." 

Coming  out  from  Perrin 's  I  ran  up  against  M.  Regnier.  I 
told  him  of  my  conversation  with  the  director  and  of  my  fears. 

"  No,  no,"  said  the  great  artiste  to  me,  "  you  must  not  be 
afraid!     I  see  very  well  what  you  are  going  to  make  of  this 

27G 


A    HOLIDAY    AND    NEW    SUCCESSES 

role.  But  all  you  have  to  do  is  to  be  careful  and  not  force  your 
voice.  Make  the  role  sorrowful  rather  than  furious — it  will  be 
better  for  everyone — even  Racine." 

Then,  joining  my  hands,  I  said:  "  Dear  M.  Regnier,  help  me 
to  work  up  PJiedre  and  I  shall  not  be  so  much  afraid." 

He  looked  at  me  rather  surprised,  for  in  general  I  was 
neither  docile  nor  apt  to  be  giiided  by  advice.  I  own  that  I 
was  wrong,  but  I  could  not  help  it.  But  the  responsibility 
which  this  put  upon  me  made  me  timid.  Regnier  accepted  and 
gave  me  a  rendezvous  for  the  following  morning  at  nine  o'clock. 

Roselia  Rousseil  persisted  in  her  demand  to  the  Committee, 
and  "  Phedre  "  was  billed  for  the  21st  of  December,  with  JMUe. 
Sarah  Bernhardt  for  the  first  time  in  the  role  of  Phedre. 

This  caused  quite  a  sensation  in  the  artistic  set  and  in  the 
theater-loving  w^orld.  That  evening  over  two  hundred  people 
were  turned  away  at  the  ticket  office.  And  when  I  was  told 
that  I  began  to  tremble  so  much  that  my  teeth  chattered. 

Regnier  comforted  me  as  best  he  could,  saying:  "  Courage! 
Cheer  up !  Are  you  not  the  spoiled  darling  of  the  public  1 
They  will  take  into  consideration  your  inexperience  in  impor- 
tant first  parts,  etc.  ..." 

These  were  the  last  words  he  should  have  said  to  me.  I 
should  have  felt  stronger  if  I  had  known  that  the  public  were 
come  to  oppose  and  not  to  encourage  me. 

I  began  to  cry  bitterly,  like  a  child.  Perrin  was  called  and 
consoled  me  as  well  as  he  could ;  then  he  made  me  laugh  by  put- 
ting powder  on  my  face  so  awkwardly  that  I  was  blinded  and 
suffocated. 

Everybody  in  the  theater  knew  about  it  and  stood  at  the 
door  of  my  dressing-room  wishing  to  comfort  me.  Mounet- 
Sully,  who  was  playing  Eippohjte,  told  me  that  he  had  dreamed : 
"  We  were  playing  '  Phedre  '  and  you  were  hissed,  and  my 
dreams  always  go  by  contraries — so,"  he  cried,  "  we  shall  have 
a  tremendous  success !  ' ' 

But  what  put  me  completely  in  a  good  humor  was  the  ar- 
rival of  the  worthy  Martel,  who  was  playing  T'^crame??*?,  and  who 
had  come  so  quickly,  believing  me  ill,  that  he  had  not  had  time 

277 


MEMORIES    OF    MV     LIFE 

to  fiuisli  his  iioso.  The  sif^lil  of  this  </vi\y  i'jicc  with  ;i  wide  har 
(tf  v('(\  wjix  coiiiiiicnfin^'  botwccu  the  two  cycbnjvvs,  cownufs  down 
1(>  lijiir  ;i  ('(Mitinictcr  beh)w  liis  rioso  and  h-avinp;  behind  it  the 
011(1  ol"  the  nose  with  two  hu'jxe  l)lack  nostrils — this  face  was 
iii(U's('i'ih;il»l(' !  And  everybody  hiUj^'hcd  irn'i)rcssil)ly.  I  knew 
that  Mart  el  matle  up  his  nose,  for  I  had  already  seen  this  poor 
nose  chan<re  shape  at  the  second  performance  of  "  Zaire,"  un- 
der the  tropieal  depression  of  the  atmosphere ;  but  I  had  never 
realized  how  much  he  lengthened  it.  This  comical  apparition 
restored  all  my  gayety,  and  from  henceforth  I  was  in  full  pos- 
session of  my  faculties. 

The  evening  was  one  long  triumph  for  me.  And  the  Press 
was  unanimous  in  praise,  with  the  exception  of  the  article  of 
Paul  de  St.  Victor,  who  was  on  very  good  terms  with  a  sister 
of  Rachel,  and  could  not  get  over  my  impertinent  presumption 
in  daring  to  measure  myself  with  the  great  dead  artiste;  these 
are  his  own  words,  addressed  to  Girardin,  who  immediately  told 
me.  How^  mistaken  he  was,  poor  St.  Victor!  I  had  never  seen 
Rachel  act,  but  I  worshiped  her  talent,  for  I  had  surrounded 
myself  with  her  most  devoted  admirers,  and  they  little  thought 
of  comparing  me  with  their  idol. 

A  few  days  after  this  performance  of  "  Phedre,"  the  new 
piece  of  Bornier  was  read  to  us — "  La  Fille  de  Roland."  The 
part  of  Bertke  was  confided  to  me,  and  we  immediately  began 
the  rehearsals  of  this  fine  piece,  whose  verses  were,  nevertheless, 
a  little  flat,  but  which  had  a  real  breath  of  patriotism.  There 
was  in  this  piece  a  terrible  duel,  w^hich  the  public  did  not  see, 
but  which  was  related  by  Berthe,  the  daughter  of  Roland,  while 
the  incidents  happened  under  the  eyes  of  the  unhappy  girl,  who, 
from  a  window  of  the  castle  followed  in  anguish  the  fortunes 
of  the  encounter.  This  scene  was  the  only  important  one  of 
my  much  sacrificed  role. 

The  piece  w^as  ready  to  be  passed  when  Bornier  asked  that 
his  friend,  Emile  Augier,  should  be  present  at  a  general  re- 
hearsal. When  the  play  was  finished  Perrin  came  to  me:  he 
had  an  aft'ectionate  and  constrained  air.  As  to  Bornier,  he 
came  straight  to  me  in  a  decided  and  quarrelsome   manner. 

278 


A    HOLIDAY    AND    NEW    SUCCESSES 

Emile  Augier  followed  him.  ''  Well,"  he  said  to  me.  I 
looked  straight  at  him,  feeling  in  this  moment  that  he  was  my 
enemy.  He  stopped  short  and  scratched  his  head,  then  turned 
toward  Augier  and  said: 

"  I  beg  you,  clicr  Maitre,  explain  to  mademoiselle  yourself." 

Emile  Augier  was  a  broad  man  with  wide  shoulders  and  a 
common  appearance,  at  this  time  rather  fat.  He  was  in  very 
good  repute  at  the  Theatre  Prancais,  of  which  he  w^as,  for 
the  moment,  the  successful  author.  He  came  near  me :  ' '  You 
managed  the  part  at  the  window  very  well,  mademoiselle,  but 
it  is  ridiculous;  it  is  not  your  fault,  but  that  of  the  author, 
who  has  written  a  most  improbable  scene.  The  public  would 
laugh  immoderately;  this  scene  must  be  taken  out." 

I  turned  toward  Perrin,  who  was  listening  silently:  "  Are 
you  of  the  same  opinion,  sir?  " 

"  I  talked  it  over  a  short  time  ago  with  these  gentlemen,  but 
the  author  is  master  of  his  work." 

Then  addressing  myself  to  Bornier,  I  said :  ' '  Well,  my  dear 
author,  what  have  you  decided?  " 

Little  Bornier  looked  at  big  Emile  Augier.  There  was  in 
this  beseeching  and  piteous  glance  an  expression  of  sorrow  at 
having  to  cut  out  a  scene  which  he  prized,  and  of  fear  to  vex  an 
Academician  just  at  the  time  when  he  was  hoping  to  become 
a  member  of  the  Academy. 

' '  Cut  it  out !  cut  it  out !  or  you  are  done  for !  ' '  brutally 
replied  Augier,  and  turned  his  back.  Then  poor  Bornier,  who 
resembled  a  Breton  gnome,  came  up  to  me.  He  scratched  him- 
self desperately,  for  the  unfortunate  man  had  a  skin  disease 
which  itched  terribly.  He  did  not  speak.  He  looked  at  us 
questiouingly.  A  poignant  anxiety  was  expressed  on  his  face. 
Perrin,  who  had  come  up  to  me,  guessed  the  private  little  drama 
which  was  taking  place  in  the  heart  of  the  mild  Bornier. 

"  Refuse  energetically,"  murmured  Perrin  to  me. 

I  understood,  and  declared  firmly  to  Bornier  that  if  this 
scene  was  taken  out  I  should  refuse  the  part.  Then  Bornier 
seized  both  my  hands  which  he  kissed  ardently,  and  running 
up  to  Augier  he  cried  with  comical  emphasis : 

279 


MEMORIES    OF    .MV     LIFE 

"  But  I  cannot  take  it  ont !  I  cannot  take  it  out!  Sho  will 
not  play!  And  llic  day  after  to-morrow  the  play  is  to  be 
passed!  "  Then  as  Kniile  An<,'ior  made  a  fjosture,  and  would 
have  spoken — "  Xo!  Xo!  'i'o  put  hack  my  play  eight  days 
would  be  to  kill  it!  I  eainiot  take  it  out!  Oh,  my  iiodl  "  And 
he  cried  and  <festienlate<l  with  his  two  loiifj  arms,  and  stamped 
with  his  sliort  ie^s.  His  lar^c  liairy  licad  went  from  right  to 
left.  lie  was  at  the  same  time  funny  and  pitiful.  p]mile  Augier 
was  irritated,  and  turned  on  me  like  a  hunted  boar  on  a  pursu- 
ing dog : 

"  You  will  take  the  responsibility,  mademoiselle,  of  the  ab- 
surd window  scene  at  the  first  presentation?  " 

"  Certainly,  monsieur,  and  I  even  promise  to  make  of  this 
scene,  which  I  find  very  fine,  an  enormous  success!  " 

He  rudely  shrugged  his  shoulders,  muttering  something  very 
disagreeable  between  his  teeth. 

When  I  left  the  theater  I  met  poor  Bornier  quite  transfig- 
ured. He  thanked  me  a  thousand  times,  for  he  thought  very 
highly  of  this  scene,  but  dared  not  thwart  Emile  Augier.  Both 
Perrin  and  myself  had  divined  the  legitimate  emotions  of  this 
poor  poet,  so  gentle  and  so  well  brought  up,  but  a  trifle 
Jesuitical. 

The  play  was  a  big  success.  But  the  window  scene  on  the 
night  of  the  first  presentation  was  a  veritable  triumph. 

It  was  a  short  time  after  the  terrible  Avar  of  1870.  The 
play  contained  frequent  allusions  to  this,  and,  owing  to  the 
patriotism  of  the  public,  had  an  even  greater  success  than  it 
deserved  as  a  play.  I  had  Emile  Augier  called.  He  came  into 
my  dressing-room  with  a  surly  air  and  called  to  me  from  the 
door: 

"  So  much  the  worse  for  the  public!  It  only  proves  that 
the  public  is  an  idiot  to  make  a  success  of  such  vileness!  "  And 
he  disappeared  without  having  even  entered  my  dressing-room. 

His  outburst  made  me  laugh,  and  as  the  triumphant  Bor- 
nier had  embraced  me  repeatedly,  I  hugged  myself  in  glee. 

Two  months  later  I  played  "  Gabrielle,"  by  this  same  Au- 
gier, and  I  had  incessant  quarrels  with  him,    I  found  the  verses 

280 


SARAH    BERNHARDT    PAINTING,    1878-9. 


A    HOLIDAY    AND    NEW    SUCCESSES 

of  this  play  execrable.  Coquelin,  who  took  the  part  of  my  hus- 
band, had  a  grand  success.  As  for  me,  I  was  as  mediocre  as 
the  play  itself,  which  is  saying  much. 

I  had  been  admitted  Associate  in  the  month  of  January,  and 
since  then  it  seemed  to  me  that  I  Avas  in  prison,  for  I  had 
undertaken  the  engagement  not  to  leave  Moliere's  Theater  for 
several  years.  This  idea  made  me  sad.  It  was  Perrin  who  had 
instigated  me  to  ask  to  become  Associate,  and  now  I  regretted 
it  very  much. 

Almost  all  the  latter  part  of  the  year  I  played  only  occa- 
sionally. 

My  time  was  then  occupied  in  looking  after  the  building 
of  a  pretty  hotel  which  I  was  having  constructed  at  the  corner 
of  the  Avenue  de  Villiers  and  the  Rue  Fontuny.  A  sister  of 
my  grandmother  had  left  me  in  her  will  a  nice  legacy  which 
I  used  to  buy  the  ground.  JNIy  great  desire  was  to  have  a  house 
that  should  be  entirely  my  own,  and  I  was  then  realizing  it. 
The  son-in-law  of  ]\I.  Regnier,  Felix  Escalier,  a  fashionable 
architect,  was  building  me  a  ravishing  hotel !  Nothing  amused 
me  more  than  to  go  with  him  in  the  morning  over  the  unfinished 
house.  Then  afterwards  I  mounted  the  movable  scaffolds.  Then 
I  went  on  the  roofs.  I  forgot  my  worries  of  the  theater  in  this 
new  occupation.  The  thing  I  most  desired  just  now  was  to 
become  an  architect.  Then,  when  the  building  w^as  finished, 
the  interior  had  to  be  thought  of.  I  spent  my  strength  in 
helping  my  painter  friends  who  were  decorating  the  ceilings 
in  my  bedroom,  in  my  dining-room,  in  my  hall — Georges  Clairin, 
the  architect  Escalier,  who  was  also  a  talented  painter,  Duez, 
Picard,  Butin,  Jadin,  Jourdain,  and  Parrot.  I  was  deeply  in- 
terested, and  I  recollect  a  joke  which  I  played  on  one  of  my 
relations.  IMy  Aunt  Betsy  had  come  from  Holland,  her  native 
country,  to  pass  a  few  days  in  Paris.  She  was  staying  with  my 
mother.  I  invited  her  to  lunch  in  my  new,  unfinished  habita- 
tion. Five  of  my  painter  friends  were  working,  some  in  one 
room,  some  in  another,  and  everywhere  lofty  scaffoldings  were 
erected.  In  order  to  be  able  to  climb  the  ladders  more  easily 
I  was  wearing  my  sculptor's  costume.    My  aunt,  seeing  me  thus 

281, 


MKM()KIi:S    OF    M\     IJl'i: 

/  <'irr;i\  i'<l,  \v;i.s  liorrihly  slioclscd  ;iti(l  lold  iiic  s<t.     l>iit.   I  was  pro- 

/  pariiijr  yet  anotluT  snrpris(i  for  her.     She  thoui^lit  these  young 

)  workers    wcj-e   ordinary    house   painters   and   (;onsidered    I    was 

too  t;iiiiili;ii-  with  them.  I-iut  she  nearly  fainted  when  midday 
ciiiiit'  ;m(l  I  iMislied  to  the  piano  to  i)lay  "  The  Complaint  of 
tlie  Hungry  Stomaehs. "  This  wild  melody  had  been  improvised 
by  the  group  of  painters,  but  revised  and  corrected  by  poet 
friends,  "When  the  song  was  finished  I  mounted  into  my  bi-d- 
room  and  made  myself  into  a  fine  lady  for  lunch. 

i\Iy  aunt  had  followed  me:  "  But,  my  dear,"  said  she,  "  you 
are  mad  to  think  I  am  going  to  eat  with  all  these  workmen. 
Certainly  in  all  Paris  there  is  no  one  but  yourself  who  would 
do  such  a  thing." 

"  No,  no,  aunt,  it  is  all  right." 

And  I  dragged  her  off,  when  I  was  dressed,  to  the  dining- 
room,  which  was  the  most  habitable  room  of  the  house.  Five 
young  men  solemnly  bowed  to  my  aunt,  who  did  not  recognize 
them  at  first,  for  they  had  changed  their  working  clothes  and 
looked  like  five  respectable  young  men  of  society.  Mme.  Gue- 
rard  lunched  with  us.  Suddenly,  in  the  middle  of  lunch,  my 
aunt  cried  out :  "  But  these  are  the  workmen !  "  The  five  young 
men  rose  and  bowed  low.  Then  my  poor  aunt  understood  her 
mistake  and  excused  herself  in  every  possible  manner,  so  con- 
fused was  she. 


282 


CHAPTER   XIX 


BUSY   DAYS 


JNE  day  Alexandre  Dumas,  fils,  was  announced.  He 
came  to  bring  me  the  good  news  that  he  had  finished 
his  play  for  the  Comedie  Francaise:  "  L'Etran- 
gere,"  and  that  my  role,  the  Duchess  de  Septmonts, 
had  come  out  very  well.  "  You  can,"  he  said  to  me,  "  make  a 
fine  success  out  of  it."    I  expressed  my  gratitude  to  him. 

A  month  after  this  visit  we  were  convoked  to  the  Comedie 
for  the  reading  of  this  piece. 

The  reading  was  a  great  success,  and  I  was  delighted  with 
my  role :  Catherine  de  Septmonts.  I  also  liked  the  role  of  Croi- 
zette :  3Iistress  Clarkson.  Got  gave  us  each  our  parts,  and 
thinking  that  he  had  made  a  mistake  I  passed  on  to  Croi- 
:';ette  the  role  of  I'Etrangere,  which  he  had  just  given  me, 
saying  to  her:  "  Here,  Got  has  made  a  mistake — here  is  your 
role." 

"  But  he  is  not  making  any  mistake,  it  is  I  who  am  to  play 
the  Duchess  de  Septmonts.'' 

I  burst  out  into  irrepressible  laughter,  which  surprised  every- 
body present,  and  when  Perrin,  annoyed,  asked  me  why  I  was 
laughing  like  that,  I  exclaimed: 

"  At  all  of  you — you,  Dumas,  Got,  Croizette — and  all  of 
you  who  are  in  the  plot,  and  who  are  all  a  little  afraid  of  the 
result  of  your  cowardice.  Well,  you  need  not  alarm  yourselves. 
I  was  delighted  to  play  the  Duchesse  de  Septmonts,  but  I  shall 
be  ten  times  more  delighted  to  play  the  Stranger.  And  this 
Lime,  my  dear  Sophie,  I  make  no  account  of  you;  you  are  not 

283 


MEMOIUKS    OF    MV    LIFE 

worth  considering^  lor  you  have  played  me  a  little  triek  which 
was  (juite  unworthy  of  our  friendship!  " 

The  rehearsals  were  strained  on  all  sides.  Perrin,  who  was 
a  warm  partisan  of  Croizette,  bewailed  the  want  of  suppleness 
of  licr  talent,  so  much  so  that  one  day  Croizette,  out  of  all 
l);itieii('e,   burst  out: 

"  Well,  monsieur,  you  should  have  left  the  rule  to  Sarah, 
she  would  have  taken  the  part  in  the  love  scenes  as  you  wish; 
I  cannot  do  any  better.  You  irritate  me  too  much,  I  have  had 
enough  of  it!  "  And  she  ran  off,  sobbinjz:,  into  the  little  guig- 
nol,  where  she  had  an  attack  of  hysteria.  I  followed  her  and 
consoled  her  as  well  as  I  could.  And  in  the  midst  of  her  tears 
she  kissed  me,  murmuring:  "It  is  true,  it  is  they  who  in.sti- 
gated  me  to  do  this  nasty  trick,  and  now  they  are  bothering 
me."  Croizette  spoke  broadly — ^very  broadly — and  sometimes 
she  had  quite  a  provincial  accent. 

Then  we  made  up  our  quarrel  entirely. 

A  week  before  the  first  performance  I  received  an  anony- 
mous letter  informing  me  that  Perrin  was  trying  his  very  best 
to  get  Dumas  to  change  the  name  of  the  piece.  He  wished — 
it  goes  without  saying — to  have  the  piece  called  "  La  Duchesse 
de  Septmonts."  I  rushed  off  to  the  theater  to  find  Perrin  at 
once.  At  the  door  I  met  Coquelin,  who  Avas  taking  the  part 
of  the  Due  de  Septmonts,  which  he  did  marvelously  well.  I 
showed  him  the  letter.  He  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "It  is 
infamous !  But  why  do  you  take  any  notice  of  an  anonymous 
letter?  It  is  not  w^orthy  of  you!  "  We  were  talking  at  the 
foot  of  the  staircase  when  the  manager  arrived. 

"  Here,  show  the  letter  to  Perrin."  And  he  took  it  from 
my  hands  in  order  to  show  it  to  him.    Perrin  reddened  slightly. 

"  I  know  this  writing,"  he  said.  "  It  is  some  one  from  the 
theater  who  has  written  this  letter." 

I  snatched  it  back  from  him.  "  Then  it  is  some  one  who  is 
well  informed,  and  what  he  says  is  perhaps  true,  is  it  not  so? 
Tell  me,  I  have  the  right  to  know." 

"  I  detest  anonymous  letters."  And  he  went  up  the  stairs 
with  a  slight  bow,  without  saying  anything  further. 

284 


BUSY    DAYS 

"  Ah,  if  it  is  true,"  said  Coqiielin,  "  it  is  too  much!  Would 
you  like  iiie  to  go  to  see  Dumas?    I  will  find  out  at  once." 

"  No,  thank  you.  But  you  have  put  an  idea  into  my  head." 
And  shaking  hands  with  him  I  went  off  immediately  to  see 
Dumas,  fils.     He  was  just  going  out. 

"  Well,  Avell!  What  is  the  matter?  Your  eyes  are  blaz- 
ing! " 

I  went  with  him  into  the  drawing-room  and  asked  my  ques- 
tion at  once.  He  had  kept  his  hat  on  and  took  it  off  to  recover 
his  self-possession.  Before  he  could  speak  a  word  I  got  furi- 
ously angry — one  of  those  rages  which  I  sometimes  have,  and 
which  are  more  like  attacl^  of  madness.  With  all  that  I  felt 
of  bitterness  toward  this  man,  toward  Perrin,  toward  all  this 
theatrical  world  who  should  have  loved  me  and  upheld  me, 
and  who  betrayed  me  on  every  occasion — all  that  I  had  been 
accumulating  of  hot  anger  during  the  rehearsals,  the  cries  of 
revolt  against  the  perpetual  injustice  of  these  two  men,  Perrin 
and  Dumas — I  burst  out  with  everything,  in  an  avalanche  of 
stinging  words,  which  were  both  furious  and  sincere.  I  re- 
minded him  of  his  promise  made  in  former  days;  of  his  visit 
to  my  hotel  in  the  Avenue  de  Villiers;  of  the  cowardly  and 
underhand  manner  in  which  he  had  written  of  me,  at  Perrin 's 
request,  and  on  the  wishes  of  the  friends  of  Sophie.  ...  I  spoke 
vehemently,  without  allowing  him  to  edge  in  a  single  word. 
And  when,  worn  out,  I  was  forced  to  stop,  I  murmured,  out  of 
breath  with  fatigue:  "  What — what — what  have  you  to  say 
for  yourself?  " 

"  My  dear  child,"  he  replied,  much  touched,  "  if  I  had 
examined  my  own  conscience  I  should  have  said  to  myself  all 
that  you  have  just  said  to  me  so  eloquently.  But  I  can  truly 
say,  in  order  to  excuse  myself  a  little,  that  I  really  believed 
that  you  did  not  care  at  all  about  your  theater;  that  you  much 
preferred  your  sculpture,  your  painting,  and  your  court.  We 
have  seldom  talked  together,  and  people  led  me  to  believe  all 
that  which  I  was  perhaps  too  ready  to  believe.  Your  grief  and 
anger  have  touched  me  deeply.  I  give  you  my  word  that  the 
play  shall  keep  its  title  of  '  L  'Etrangere. '  And  now,  embrace  me 

285 


MEMORIES    OF    MY    LIFi: 

witli  ;i  ^'()()(l  yrace,  to  show  that  you  arci  no  longer  angry 
witli  me." 

I  embraced  liim,  aiul  from  that  day  we  were  good  friends. 

That  evening  I  tohl  tlie  wliole  tale  to  Croi/ctte,  and  I  saw 
that  she  knew  nothing  about  this  wicked  scheme.  I  was  very 
pleased  to  know  that. 

The  play  was  very  successful.  Coquelin,  Febvre,  and  I  car- 
ried off  the  laurels  of  the  day. 

I  had  just  commenced  in  my  studio,  in  the  Avenue  de  Clichy, 
a  large  group,  the  inspiration  for  which  I  had  gathered  from 
the  sad  history  of  an  old  woman  whom  I  often  saw  at  nightfall 
in  the  Baie  des  Trepasses.  One  day  I  went  up  to  her  wishing 
to  speak  to  her,  but  I  was  so  terrified  by  her  aspect  of  madness 
that  I  rushed  off  at  once,  and  the  guardian  told  me  her  his- 
tory. She  was  the  mother  of  five  sons — all  sailors.  Two  had 
been  killed  by  the  Germans  in  1870,  and  three  had  been 
drowned.  She  had  brought  up  the  little  son  of  her  youngest 
boy,  always  keeping  him  far  from  the  sea  and  teaching  him 
to  hate  the  water.  She  had  never  left  the  little  lad;  but  he 
became  so  sad  that  he  was  really  ill,  and  he  said  he  was  dying 
because  he  wanted  to  see  the  sea.  ''  Well,  make  haste  and  get 
well,"  said  the  grandmother  tenderly,  "  and  we  will  go  and 
visit  the  sea  together."  Two  days  later  the  child  was  better, 
and  the  grandmother  left  the  valley  in  the  company  of  her 
little  grandson  to  go  and  see  the  ocean,  the  grave  of  her  three 
sons. 

It  was  a  November  day.  A  low  sky  hung  over  the  sea  limit- 
ing the  horizon.  The  child  jumped  with  joy.  He  ran,  gam- 
boled, and  sang  for  happiness  when  he  saw  all  this  living  water. 
The  grandmother  sat  on  the  sand  and  hid  her  tearful  eyes  in 
her  two  trembling  hands ;  then,  suddenly,  struck  by  the  silence, 
she  looked  up  in  terror.  There,  in  front  of  her  she  saw  a  boat 
drifting,  and  in  the  boat  her  boy,  her  little  lad  of  eight  years 
old,  who  was  laughing  right  merrily,  paddling  as  well  as  he  could 
with  one  oar  that  he  could  hardly  hold,  and  crying  out :  "I  am 
going  to  see  what  there  is  behind  the  mist  and  I  will  come  back. ' ' 

He  never  came  back.     And  the  following  day  they  found  the 

286 


BUSY    DAYS 

poor  old  woman  talking  low  to  the  waves  which  came  and  bathed 
her  feet.  She  came  every  day  to  the  water's  edge,  throwing  in 
the  bread  which  kindly  folk  gave  her  and  saying  to  the  waves : 
"  You  must  carry  that  to  the  little  lad." 

This  touching  narrative  had  remained  in  my  memory.  I  can 
still  see  the  tall  old  woman  with  her  brown  cape  and  hood.  I 
worked  feverishly  at  the  group.  It  seemed  to  me  now  that  I  was 
destined  to  be  a  sculptor  and  I  began  to  despise  my  theater.  I 
went  there  only  when  I  was  compelled  by  my  duties  and  I  left  it 
as  soon  as  possible. 

I  had  made  several  designs,  none  of  which  pleased  me.  Just 
when  I  was  going  to  throw  down  the  last  one  in  discouragement, 
the  painter  Georges  Clairin,  who  came  to  see  me,  begged  me  not 
to  do  so.  And  my  good  friend,  Mathieu  Mensiner,  who  was  a 
man  of  talent,  also  joined  his  voice  against  the  destruction  of  my 
design. 

Excited  by  their  encouragement  I  decided  to  push  on  with 
the  work  and  to  make  a  large  group.  I  asked  Lourdier  if  he 
knew  any  tall,  bony  old  woman,  and  he  sent  me  two,  but  neither 
of  them  suited  me.  Then  I  asked  all  my  painter  and  sculptor 
friends,  and  during  eight  days  all  sorts  of  old  and  infirm  women 
came  for  my  inspection.  I  fixed  at  last  on  a  charwoman  who 
was  about  sixty  years  old.  She  was  very  tall  and  had  very 
sharply  cut  features.  "When  she  came  in  I  felt  a  slight  sen- 
timent of  fear.  The  idea  of  remaining  alone  with  this  female 
gendarme  for  hours  together  made  me  feel  uneasy.  But  when 
I  heard  her  speak  I  was  more  comfortable.  Her  timid,  gentle 
voice  and  frightened  gestures,  like  a  shy  young  girl,  contrasted 
strangely  with  the  build  of  the  poor  woman.  When  I  showed 
her  the  design  she  was  stupefied :  ' '  Do  you  want  me  to  have  my 
neck  and  shoulders  bare"?  I  really  cannot."  I  told  her  that 
nobody  ever  came  in  when  I  worked  and  I  asked  to  see  her  neck 
immediately. 

Oh,  that  neck !  I  clapped  my  hands  with  joy  when  I  saw  it. 
It  was  long,  emaciated,  terrible.  The  bones  literally  stood  out 
almost  bare  of  flesh,  the  Adam 's  apple  looked  as  if  it  would  come 
through  the  skin.     It  was  just  what  I  wanted.     I  went  up  to  her 

287 


MEMORIES    OF    MV     LIFE 

and  f^'cntly  l)aro(l  her  sliouldcr.  Wliat  a  treasnro  I  had  found ! 
(he  l)()iu's  of  the  shoiddiT  wero  entirely  visible;  under  the  skin 
and  she  had  two  inuiiense  "salt  C(;llars."  The  woman  was  ideal 
for  1113'  work.  She  seemed  destined  for  it.  She  blushed  when  I 
told  her  so.  1  asked  to  see  her  feet.  She  took  off  her  thiek  boots 
and  showed  a  dirty  foot  which  had  no  character.  "  No,"  I 
said,  "  Ihank  you.  Your  feet  are  too  small,  I  will  take  only  your 
liead  and  shoulders." 

After  having?  fixed  the  price  I  engaged  her  for  three  months. 
At  the  idea  of  earning  so  much  money  for  three  months  the  poor 
woman  began  to  cry  and  I  felt  so  sorry  for  her  that  I  told  her 
she  would  not  have  to  seek  for  work  that  winter,  becau.se  she  had 
already  told  me  that  she  generally  passed  six  months  of  the  year 
in  the  country,  at  Sologne,  near  her  grandchildren. 

Having  found  the  grandmother  I  now  needed  the  grandchild. 
I  then  had  passed  in  review  before  me  a  whole  army  of  little 
Italians,  professional  models.  There  were  some  lovely  children, 
real  little  Jupi)is.  The  mothers  undressed  their  children  in  one 
moment  and  the  children  posed  quite  naturally  and  took  at- 
titudes which  showed  off  their  muscles  and  the  development  of 
the  torso.  I  chose  a  fine  little  boy  of  seven  years,  but  who 
looked  more  like  nine.  I  had  already  had  the  workmen  in  to  put 
up  the  scaffolding  required  to  make  it  sufficiently  stable  to  sus- 
tain the  necessary  weight.  Enormous  iron  supports  were  fixed 
into  the  plaster  by  bolts,  and  pillars  of  wood  and  iron  wherever 
needed.  The  skeleton  of  a  large  piece  of  sculpture  looks  like 
a  giant  trap  put  up  to  catch  rats  and  mice  by  the  thousand. 

I  gave  myself  up  to  this  enormous  work  with  the  courage  of 
ignorance.  Nothing  discouraged  me.  Often  I  worked  on  till 
midnight,  sometimes  till  four  o'clock  in  the  morning.  And  as 
one,  humble  gas-burner  was  totally  insufficient  for  working  by. 
I  had  a  crown  or  rather  a  silver  circlet  made,  each  bud  of  which 
was  a  candlestick  with  a  candle  burning,  those  of  the  back 
row  a  little  higher  than  those  of  the  front ;  and  with  this  help  I 
was  able  to  work  almost  without  ceasing.  I  had  no  watch  or 
clock  in  the  room,  as  I  wished  to  ignore  time  altogether.  Then 
my  maid  would' come  to  seek  me.     How  many  times  I  have  gone 

288 


SARAH  BERNHARDT  AT  WORK  ON  HER  "MEDEE." 


BUSY    DAYS 

without  lunch  or  dinner!  Then  I  would  perhaps  faint  and  so 
be  compelled  to  send  for  something  to  eat  to  restore  my  strength. 

I  had  almost  finished  my  group,  but  I  had  done  neither  the 
feet  nor  the  hands  of  the  grandmother.  She  was  holding  her 
little  dead  grandson  on  her  knees,  but  her  arms  had  no  hands  and 
her  legs  had  no  feet.  I  looked  in  vain  for  the  hands  and  the  feet 
of  my  ideal,  large  and  bony.  One  day  when  my  friend  Martel 
came  to  see  me  at  my  studio  and  to  look  at  this  group  which  was 
much  talked  of,  I  had  an  inspiration :  Martel  was  big,  and  thin 
enough  to  make  Death  jealous.  I  watched  him  walking  round 
my  work.  He  was  looking  at  it  as  a  connoisseur.  But  /  was 
looking  at  him.     Suddenly  I  said: 

"  My  dear  Martel,  I  beg  you  ...  I  beseech  you  ...  to 
pose  for  the  hands  and  feet  of  my  grandmother. ' ' 

He  burst  out  laughing,  and  with  perfectly  good  grace  took 
off  his  shoes  and  took  the  place  of  my  model. 

He  came  ten  days  running  and  gave  me  three  hours  each  day. 
Thanks  to  him  I  was  able  to  finis*h  my  group.  I  had  it  molded 
and  sent  to  the  Salon  (1876)  where  it  had  a  veritable  success. 
Is  there  any  need  to  say  that  I  was  accused  of  having  got  some 
one  else  to  make  this  group  for  mel  I  asked  one  critic  to  meet 
me.  This  was  no  other  than  Jules  Claretie,  who  had  declared 
that  this  work,  which  was  very  interesting,  could  not  have  been 
done  by  me.  Jules  Claretie  excused  himself  very  politely  and 
that  was  the  end  of  it. 

The  jury,  after  being  fully  informed  on  the  subject,  awarded 
me  "  honorable  mention,"  and  I  was  wild  with  joy. 

I  was  very  much  criticised,  but  also  very  much  praised. 
Nearly  all  the  criticisms  were  directed  to  the  neck  of  my  old 
Breton  woman — that  neck  on  which  I  had  worked  with  such 
eagerness. 

The  following  is  from  an  article  by  Rene  Delorme : 

"  The  work  of  Mile.  Sarah  Bernhardt  deserves  to  be  studied 
in  detail.  The  head  of  the  grandmother,  well  worked  out  as  to 
the  profound  wrinkles  it  bears,  expresses  that  intense  sorrow 
in  which  everything  else  counts  as  nothing.  The  only  reproach 
I  have  to  bring  against  this  artist  is  that  she  has  brought  too 
20  289 


MEMORIES    OF    MY    LIFE 

imu'li  into  [)r()nrni»'ii('('  tlie  imisclcs  of  the  neck  of  tho  old  f<rand- 
iiiother.  This  sliows  a  lack  of  experience.  She  is  pleased  with 
ht'isclf  for  having  studied  anatomy  so  well  and  is  not  sorry  for 
tlic  (»i)portunity  of  siiowin}^  it.     It  is,"  etc.,  etc.  .  .  . 

Certainly  this  f^entlenian  was  rif^ht — I  had  studied  anatomy 
eagerly  and  in  a  very  amusinf;  manner.  I  had  had  lessons  from 
Doctor  Parrot  who  was  so  good  to  me.  I  had  continually  with 
me  a  book  of  anatomical  desifjns,  and  when  I  was  at  home  I  stood 
before  the  glass  and  said  suddenly  to  myself,  putting:  my  finger 
on  some  part  of  my  body:  "  Now,  then,  what  is  that?  "  I  had 
to  answer  immediately,  without  hesitation,  and  when  I  hesitated 
I  compelled  myself  to  learn  by  heart  the  muscles  of  the  head  or 
the  arm  and  did  not  sleep  till  this  was  done. 

A  month  after  the  exhibition  there  was  a  reading  of  Parodi's 
play,  "  Rome  Vainciie, "  at  the  Comedie  Franc^aise.  I  refused 
the  role  of  the  young  vestal  Op'imia,  which  had  been  allotted  to 
me,  and  energetically  demanded  that  of  Postkumia,  an  old  blind 
Roman  woman  with  a  superb  and  noble  face.  No  doubt  there 
was  some  connection  in  my  mind  between  my  old  Breton  weeping 
over  her  son,  and  the  august  patrician  claiming  pardon  for  her 
granddaughter. 

Perrin  was  at  first  astounded.  Afterwards  he  acceded  to  my 
request.  But  his  order-loving  mind,  and  his  taste  for  sjonmetry 
made  him  anxious  about  ]Mounet-Sully,  who  was  also  playing  in 
the  piece.  He  was  accustomed  to  seeing  Mounet-Sully  and  me 
playing  the  two  heroes,  the  two  lovers,  the  two  victims.  How 
was  he  to  arrange  matters  so  that  we  should  still  be  the  two  .  .  . 
together  1  Eureka !  There  was  in  the  play  an  old  idiot  named 
Yastacpor,  who  was  quite  unnecessary  for  the  action  of  the  piece, 
but  had  been  brought  in  to  satisfy  Perrin.  "  Eureka!  "  cried 
the  director  of  the  Comedie,  "  Mounet-Sully  shall  play  Ves- 
taeporl  "  Equilibrium  was  restored.  The  God  of  the  bour- 
geois was  content. 

The  piece,  which  was  really  quite  mediocre,  obtained  a  big 
success  at  the  first  presentation  (27th  September,  1876),  and 
personally  I  was  very  successful  in  the  fourth  act.     The  crowd 

290 


BUSY    DAYS 

was  decidedly  in  my  favor  in  spite  of  everything  and  every- 
body. 

The  performance  of  "  Hernani  "  made  me  more  the  favorite 
of  the  public  than  ever.  I  had  already  gone  through  it  with 
Victor  Hugo  and  it  was  a  real  pleasure  to  me  to  visit  the  great 
poet  each  day.  I  had  never  discontinued  my  visits  to  him,  but 
I  was  never  able  to  have  any  conversation  with  him  in  his  own 
house.  There  were  always  men  in  red  ties  gesticulating,  or 
women  in  tears  reciting.  He  was  very  good ;  he  listened  to  me 
with  half-closed  eyes  and  I  thought  he  was  asleep.  Then  when  1 
stopped  he  roused  up  at  the  silence  and  said  a  consoling  word, 
for  Victor  Hugo  would  not  have  promised  to  hear  me  without 
keeping  his  word.  He  was  not  like  me;  I  promise  everything 
with  the  firm  intention  of  keeping  my  promises,  and  two  hours 
after  I  have  forgotten  all  about  them.  If  anybody  reminds  me 
of  what  I  have  promised  I  tear  my  hair  and  to  make  up  for  my 
forgetfulness  I  say  anything,  I  buy  presents,  in  fact  I  complicate 
my  life  with  useless  worries.  It  has  always  been  so  and  always 
will. 

As  I  was  grumbling  one  day  to  Victor  Hugo  that  I  never 
could  have  a  chance  of  talking  with  him,  he  invited  me  to  lunch, 
saying  that  after  lunch  we  could  talk  together  alone.  I  was  de- 
lighted with  this  lunch,  to  which  Paul  Maurice  the  poet,  Leon 
Gladel,  Gustave  Dore  and  the  Cummunard  X —  (a  Russian  lady 
whose  name  I  do  not  remember)  were  also  invited.  In  front 
of  Victor  Hugo  sat  Mme.  Drouet,  the  friend  of  his  unlucky  days. 
But  what  a  horrible  lunch  we  had !  It  was  really  bad  and  badly 
served.  My  feet  were  frozen  by  the  draughts  from  the  three 
doors,  which  fitted  badly,  and  one  could  positively  hear  the  wind 

blowing  under  the  table.     Near  me  was  Mr.  X ,  the  German 

architect,  who  is  to-day  a  very  successful  man.  This  man  had 
such  dirty  hands  and  ate  so  badly  that  he  made  me  feel  sick.  I 
met  him  afterwards  at  Berlin.  He  is  now  quite  clean  and  proper, 
and  I  believe  an  Imperialist.  But  the  uncomfortable  feeling 
this  uncongenial  neighbor  inspired  in  me,  the  cold  draughts 
blowing  on  my  feet,  the  boredom  I  was  afflicted  with — all  re- 
duced me  to  a  state  of  positive  suffering  and  I  lost  consciousness. 

291 


MEMORIES    OF    MY    LIFE 

Wlu'U  I  recovered  F  found  myself  on  a  eouch,  my  hand  in  that 
of  Mme.  Drouet  and  in  front  of  me,  sketching  me,  Gustave 
Dore. 

"  Oil,  don't  move,'"  he  cried,  "  yon  are  so  pretty  like  that!  " 
These  words,  thougli  they  were  so  inappi-opriate,  pleased  me, 
nevertheless,  and  I  complied  with  {\w  wish  of  the  great  ailist. 
From  that  day  we  were  the  best  of  friends. 

I  left  the  house  of  Victor  Hugo  without  saying  good-by  to 
him,  a  trifle  ashamed  of  myself.  The  next  day  he  came  to  see 
me.  I  told  him  some  tale  to  account  for  my  illness  and  I  saw  no 
more  of  him  except  at  the  rehearsals  of  "  Hernani." 

The  first  performance  of  "  Hernani  "  took  place  on  the  21st 
November,  1877.  It  was  a  triumph  alike  for  the  author  and  the 
actors.  "  Hernani  "  had  already  been  played  ten  years  earlier, 
but  Delaunay,  who  then  took  the  part  of  Hernani,  was  the  exact 
contrary  of  what  this  part  should  have  been.  He  was  neither 
epic,  romantic,  nor  poetic.  He  had  not  the  style  of  these  grand 
times.  He  was  charming,  gracious,  and  with  a  perpetual  smile, 
of  middle  height,  with  studied  movements,  ideal  in  ]\Iusset,  per- 
fect in  Emile  Augier,  charming  in  Moliere,  but  execrable  in 
Victor  Hugo. 

Bressant,  who  took  the  part  of  Charles-Quint,  was  worst 
of  all.  His  amiable  and  flabby  style  and  his  weak  and  wander- 
ing eyes  effectively  prevented  all  grandeur.  His  two  enormous 
feet,  generally  half  hidden  under  his  trousers,  took  on  immense 
proportions.  I  could  see  nothing  else.  They  were  very  large, 
flat,  and  slightly  turned  in  at  the  toes.  They  were  a  nightmare ! 
But  think  of  their  possessor  repeating  the  admirable  couplet  of 
Charles-Quint  to  the  shade  of  Charlemagne !  It  was  absurd ! 
The  public  coughed,  wriggled,  and  showed  that  they  found  the 
whole  thing  painful  and  ridiculous. 

In  our  performance  (in  1877)  it  was  Mounet-Sully  in  all  the 
splendor  of  his  talent  who  played  Hernani.  And  it  was 
Worms,  that  admirable  artiste  who  played  Charles-Quint — and 
how  well  he  took  the  part !  How  he  rolled  out  the  lines !  What 
a  splendid  diction  he  had !  This  performance  of  the  21st  of 
November,  1877,  was  a  triumph.     The  public  received  me  very 

292 


BUSY    DAYS 

well  in  my  role.    I  played  Dona  Sol.    Victor  Hugo  sent  me  this 
letter : 

Madame:  You  have  been  great  and  charming;  you  have  moved  me 
— me,  the  old  man,  and  at  one  part,  while  the  public  whom  you  had  en- 
chanted cheered  you,  I  wept.  This  tear  which  I  shed  for  you,  and  through 
you,  is  at  your  feet,  where  I  place  myself.  Victor  Hugo. 

With  this  letter  came  a  small  box  containing  a  fine  chain 
bracelet,  from  which  hung  one  diamond  drop.  I  lost  this  brace- 
let at  the  rich  nabob's,  Alfred  Sassoon.  He  would  have  given 
me  another,  but  I  refused.  He  could  not  give  me  back  the  tear 
of  Victor  Hugo. 

My  success  at  the  Comedie  was  assured,  and  the  public 
treated  me  as  a  spoiled  child.  My  friends  were  a  little  jealous 
of  me.  Perrin  made  trouble  for  me  at  every  turn.  He  had 
a  sort  of  friendship  for  me,  but  he  could  not  believe  that  I  could 
get  on  without  him,  and  as  he  always  refused  to  do  as  I  wanted 
I  did  not  go  to  him  for  anything.  I  sent  a  letter  to  the  Ministere 
and  I  always  won  my  cause. 


293 


CHAPTER    XX 

A  BALLOON   ASCENSION 

'S  I  had  a  continual  thirst  for  what  was  new,  I  now 
tried  my  hand  at  painting.  I  knew  how  to  draw  a 
little  and  had  a  well-developed  sense  of  color.  I 
first  did  two  or  three  small  pictures — then  I  under- 
took the  portrait  of  my  dear  Guerard.  Alfred  Stevens  thought 
it  was  vigorously  done,  and  Georges  Clairin  encouraged  me  to 
continue  with  painting.  Then  I  launched  out  courageously, 
boldly.  I  began  a  picture  which  was  nearly  two  meters  in  size : 
"  The  Young  Girl  and  Death." 

Then  there  was  a  cry  of  indignation  against  me. 

Why  did  I  want  to  do  anything  else  but  act,  since  that  was 
my  career? 

Why  did  I  always  want  to  be  before  the  public  ? 

Perrin  came  to  see  me  one  day  w^hen  I  was  very  ill.  He 
began  to  preach.  "  You  are  killing  yourself,  my  dear  child," 
he  said.  ' '  Why  do  you  go  in  for  sculpture,  painting,  etc.  ?  Is 
it  to  prove  that  you  can  do  it  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  no,"  I  answered;  "  it  is  merely  to  create  a  neces- 
sity for  staying  here !  ' ' 

"  I  don't  understand,"  said  Perrin,  listening  very  at- 
tentively. 

"  This  is  how  it  is.  I  have  a  wild  desire  to  travel,  to  see 
something  else,  to  breathe  another  air,  and  to  see  skies  that  are 
higher  than  ours  and  trees  that  are  bigger;  something  different, 
in  short.  I  have  therefore  had  to  create  for  myself  some  tasks 
which  will  hold  me  to  my  chains.     If  I  did  not  do  this,  I  feel 

294 


A    BALLOON    ASCENSION 

that  my  desire  to  see  other  things  in  the  world  would  win  the 
day  and  I  should  do  something  foolish. ' ' 

This  conversation  was  destined  to  go  against  me  some  years 
later  when  the  Comedie  brought  an  action  against  me. 

The  Exhibition  of  1878  put  the  finishing  stroke  to  the  state 
of  exasperation  that  Perrin  and  some  of  the  artistes  of  the  theater 
were  in  with  regard  to  me.  They  blamed  me  for  everything,  for 
my  painting,  my  sculpture,  and  my  health.  I  had  a  terrible 
scene  with  Perrin  and  it  was  the  last  one,  for  from  that  time 
forth  we  did  not  speak  to  each  other  again ;  a  formal  bow  was  the 
most  that  we  exchanged  afterwards. 

The  climax  was  reached  over  my  balloon  ascension.  I  adored 
and  I  still  adore  balloons.  Every  day  I  went  up  in  M.  Giffard's 
captive  balloon.  This  persistency  had  struck  the  savant  and  he 
asked  a  mutual  friend  to  introduce  him. 

"  Oh,  M.  Giffard,"  I  said,  "  how  I  should  like  to  go  up  in  a 
balloon  that  is  not  captive!  " 

"  Well,  mademoiselle,  you  shall  do  so  if  you  like,"  he  replied 
very  kindly. 

"  When?  "  I  asked. 

"  Any  day  you  like." 

I  should  have  liked  to  start  immediately,  but  as  he  pointed 
out  he  would  have  to  fit  the  balloon  up  and  it  was  a  great  re- 
sponsibility for  him  to  undertake.  We  therefore  fixed  upon  the 
following  Tuesday,  just  a  week  from  then.  I  asked  M.  Giffard 
to  say  nothing  about  it,  for  if  the  newspapers  should  get  hold  of 
this  piece  of  ncM^s,  my  terrified  family  would  not  allow  me  to 
go.  M.  Tissandier,  who  a  little  time  after  was  doomed,  poor 
fellow,  to  be  killed  in  an  aerial  accident,  promised  to  accompany 
me.  Something  happened,  however,  to  prevent  his  going  with 
me,  and  it  was  young  Godard  who  the  following  week  accom- 
panied me  in  the  Doiia  Sol — a  beautiful  orange-colored  balloon 
specially  prepared  for  my  expedition.  Prince  Jerome  Napoleon 
(Plon-Plon),  who  was  with  me  when  Giffard  was  introduced, 
insisted  on  going  with  us.  But  he  was  heavy  and  rather  clumsy 
and  I  did  not  care  much  about  his  conversation,  in  spite  of  his 
marvelous  wit,  for  he  was  spiteful  and  rather  delighted  when 

295 


MEMORIES    OF    MY    LIFE 

he  could  pet  a  chance  to  attack  the  Emperor  Napoleon  II  I,  whom 
I  liked  very  mueh. 

We  started  alone,  Georges  Claii-iii,  (iodiird,  and  I.  Tln' 
rumor  of  our  journey  had  nevertheless  si)i'<ad,  hut  loo  l;ite  for 
the  Press  to  fjet  liold  of  it.     I  had  Ix'en  up  in  the  air  about  five; 

minutes  when  one  of  my  friends,  Count  de  M ,  met  Terrin 

on  the  Pont  des  Saints-Peres. 

"  I  say,"  he  began,  "  look  up  in  the  sky!  There  is  your  star 
shooting  away." 

Perrin  looked  up,  and  pointing  to  the  balloon  which  was 
rising  he  asked:  "  Who  is  in  that?  " 

"  Sarah  Bernhardt,"  replied  my  friend.  Perrin,  it  appears, 
turned  purple,  and  clenching  his  teeth,  he  murmured:  "  That's 
another  of  her  freaks,  but  she  will  pay  for  this." 

He  hurried  away  without  even  saying  good-by  to  my  young 
friend,  who  stood  there  stupefied  at  this  unreasonable  burst  of 
anger. 

And  if  he  had  suspected  my  infinite  joy  at  thus  traveling 
through  the  air,  Perrin  would  have  suffered  still  more. 

Ah,  our  departure!  It  was  half  past  five.  I  shook  hands 
with  a  few  friends.  My  family,  whom  I  had  kept  in  the  most 
profound  ignorance,  was  not  there.  I  felt  my  heart  tighten 
somewdiat  when  after  the  words  "  Loose  all  "  I  found  myself  in 
one  instant  fifty  yards  above  the  earth,  I  still  heard  a  few 
cries:  "Attention!  Come  back!  Don't  let  her  be  killed!  " 
And  then  nothing  more.  .  .  .  Nothing.  .  .  .  There  was  the  sky 
above  and  the  earth  beneath.  .  .  .  Then,  suddenly,  I  was  in  the 
clouds.  I  had  left  a  misty  Paris.  I  now  breathed  under  a  blue 
sky  and  saw  a  radiant  sun.  Around  us  were  opaque  mountains 
of  clouds  with  irradiated  edges.  Our  balloon  plunged  into  a 
milky  vapor  all  warm  with  the  sun.  It  was  splendid !  It  was 
stupefying!  Not  a  sound,  not  a  breath!  But  the  balloon  was 
scarcely  moving  at  all.  It  was  only  toward  six  o'clock  that 
the  currents  of  air  caught  us  and  we  took  our  flight  toward 
the  East.  We  were  at  an  altitude  of  about  1,700  yards. 
The  spectacle  became  fairylike.  Large  fleecy  clouds  were 
spread  below  us.     Large  orange  curtains  fringed  with  violet 

296 


SARAH   BERNHARDT,   PORTRAIT   BY   PARROTT,   1875, 
IN  THE  COMEDIE  PRANCAISE,  PARIS. 


A    BALLOON    ASCENSION 

came  down  from  the  sun  to  lose  themselves  in  our  cloudy 
carpet. 

At  twenty  minutes  to  seven  we  were  about  2,500  yards  above 
the  earth,  and  cold  and  hunger  commenced  to  make  themselves 
felt. 

The  dinner  was  copious — we  had  foie  gras — fresh  bread  and 
oranges.  The  cork  of  our  champagne  bottle  flew  up  into  the 
clouds  with  a  pretty,  soft  noise.  We  raised  our  glasses  in  honor 
of  M.  Giffard. 

We  had  talked  a  great  deal.  Night  began  to  put  on  her 
heavy  dark  mantle.  It  became  very  cold.  We  were  then  at  2,600 
meters  and  I  had  a  singing  in  my  ears.  My  nose  began  to  bleed. 
I  felt  very  uncomfortable  and  began  to  feel  drowsy  without  be- 
ing able  to  prevent  it.  Georges  Clairin  got  anxious  and  young 
Godard  cried  out  loudly — to  wake  me  up,  no  doubt — "  Alloa! 
Alloa!  we  shall  have  to  go  down.  Let  us  throw  out  the  guide 
rope!  "  This  cry  woke  me  up  properly.  I  wanted  to  know 
what  was  the  guide  rope.  I  got  up  feeling  rather  stupefied,  and 
in  order  to  rouse  me  Godard  put  the  guide  rope  into  my  hands. 
It  was  a  strong  rope,  about  130  meters  long,  to  which  were 
attached  at  certain  distances  little  iron  hooks.  Clairin  and  I 
let  out  the  rope,  laughing,  while  Godard  bending  over  the  side 
of  the  car  was  looking  through  a  field  glass. 

* '  Stop  !  ' '  cried  he  suddenly.     ' '  There  are  a  lot  of  trees !  ' ' 

In  fact,  we  were  over  the  wood  of  Ferrieres.  But  just  in 
front  of  us  there  was  a  little  open  ground  suitable  for  our 
descent. 

'*  There  is  no  doubt  about  it,"  cried  Godard,  "if  we  miss 
this  plain  we  shall  come  down  in  the  black  night  in  the  wood 
of  Ferrieres,  and  that  w^ould  be  very  dangerous!  "  Then, 
turning  to  me,  "  Will  you,"  he  said,  "  open  the  valve?  " 

I  immediately  did  so,  and  the  gas  came  out  of  its  prison, 
whistling  a  mocking  air.  The  valve  was  shut  by  order  of  the 
aeronaut,  and  we  descended  rapidly.  Suddenly  the  stillness 
of  the  night  was  broken  by  the  sound  of  a  horn.  I  trembled. 
It  was  Louis  Godard,  who  had  pulled  out  of  his  pocket,  which 
was  a  veritable  storehouse,  a  sort  of  horn,  on  which  he  blew 

297 


MEMORIES    OF    MY    LIFE 

with  violeneo,  A  loud  wliisllc  answered  our  fjill,  and  ."iOO 
meters  below  us  we  saw  a  man  who  was  shouting  his  hardest 
to  make  us  hear.  As  we  were  very  close  to  a  little  station  W(j 
easily  guessed  that  this  man  was  the  station  master. 

"  Where  are  we?  "  cried  Louis  (iodard,  w'ith  his  horn. 

"  At — in — in — ille, "  answered  the  station  master.  It  was 
impossible  to  understand. 

"  Where  are  we?  "  thundered  Georges  Clairiu  in  his  most 
formidable  tones. 

"  At — in — in — ille,"  shouted  the  station  master  with  his 
hand  curved  round  his  mouth. 

"  Where  are  we?  "  called  I  in  my  most  crystalline  accents. 

"  At — in — in — ille,"  answered  the  station  master — and  his 
porters. 

It  was  impossible  to  find  out  anything.  Wo  had  to  lower 
the  balloon.  At  first  we  descended  rather  too  ({uickly  and  the 
wind  blew  us  toward  the  wood.  We  had  to  mount  again.  But 
ten  minutes  later  we  opened  the  valve  again  and  made  a  fresh 
descent.  The  balloon  was  then  to  the  right  of  the  station,  and 
far  from  the  amiable  station  master. 

"  Throw  out  the  anchor!  "  cried  in  a  connnanding  tone 
young  Godard.  And  helped  by  Georges  Clairin  he  threw  out 
into  space  another  rope,  to  the  end  of  which  was  fastened  a 
formidable  anchor.     The  rope  was  80  meters  long. 

Down  below  us  a  crowd  of  children  of  all  ages  had  been 
running  ever  since  we  stopped  above  the  station.  When  we  got 
to  about  300  yards  from  the  earth,  Godard  called  out  to  them: 
"  Where  are  we?  " 

"  At  Vachere!  " 

None  of  us  knew  Vachere.     But  we  descended  nevertheless. 

* '  Alloa !  You  down  below  there — take  hold  of  the  guide 
rope,"  cried  the  aeronaut,  "  and  mind  you  don't  pull  too 
hard!  "  Five  vigorous  men  seized  hold  of  the  rope.  We  were 
130  meters  from  the  ground,  and  the  spectacle  became  interest- 
ing. The  night  began  to  blot  out  everything.  I  raised  my 
head  to  see  the  sky,  but  I  remained  with  my  mouth  open  with 
astonishment.     I  saw  only  the  lower  end  of  our  balloon,  which 

298 


A    BALLOON    ASCENSION 

was  overhanging   its  base   all  loose   and  baggy.     It  was  very 

ugly. 

We  anchored  gently,  without  the  little  dragging  which  I 
hoped  would  happen,  and  without  the  little  drama  which  I 
had  half  expected. 

It  began  to  rain  in  torrents  as  we  left  the  balloon. 

The  young  owner  of  a  neighboring  chateau  ran  up,  like  the 
peasants,  to  see  what  was  going  on.  He  offered  me  his  um- 
brella. 

"  Oh,  I  am  so  thin  I  cannot  get  wet!  I  pass  between  the 
drops. ' ' 

The  word  was  repeated,  and  has  become  almost  a  proverb. 

"  What  time  is  there  a  train?  "  asked  Godard. 

"  Oh,  you  have  plenty  of  time!  "  answered  an  oily  and 
heavy  voice.  "  You  cannot  leave  before  ten  o'clock,  as  the 
station  is  a  long  way  from  here,  and  in  such  weather  it  will  take 
the  young  lady  two  hours  to  walk  there." 

I  was  confounded,  and  looked  for  the  young  gentleman  with 
the  umbrella,  which  I  could  have  used  as  a  walking  stick,  as 
neither  Clairin  nor  Godard  had  one.  But  just  as  I  was  accus- 
ing him  of  going  away  and  leaving  us,  he  jumped  lightly  out 
of  a  vehicle  which  I  had  not  heard  drive  up. 

"  There!  "  said  he.  "  There  is  a  carriage  for  you  and  these 
gentlemen,  and  another  for  the  body  of  the  balloon." 

"  Ma  foi!  You  have  saved  us,"  said  Clairin,  clasping  his 
hand,  "  for  it  appears  the  roads  are  in  a  very  bad  state." 

"  Oh,"  said  the  young  man,  "  it  would  be  impossible  for 
the  feet  of  Parisians  to  walk  even  half  the  distance." 

Then  he  bowed  and  wished  us  a  pleasant  journey. 

Rather  more  than  an  hour  later  we  arrived  at  the  station  of 
Emerainville.  The  station  master,  learning  who  we  were,  re- 
ceived us  in  a  very  friendly  manner.  He  made  his  apologies  for 
not  having  heard  when  we  called  out.  He  had  a  frugal  meal 
of  bread,  cheese,  and  cider  set  before  us.  I  have  always  detested 
cheese,  and  would  never  eat  it — there  is  nothing  poetical  about 
it — but  I  was  dying  with  hunger. 

"  Taste  it,  taste  it,"  said  Georges  Clairin. 

299 


MEMORIES    OF    M\    LIFE 

I  bit  a  iiioi'sci  oCr  and  ruiirid  it  excellent. 

We  fj^ot  back  very  late,  in  tlie  middle  of  the  Tii^ht,  aiul  I 
found  Juy  household  in  an  extreine  state  of  anxiety.  Our 
friends,  who  had  come  to  hear  news  of  us,  had  stayed.  There 
was  (juite  a  crowd.  I  was  somewhat  annoyed  at  this,  as  I  was 
luilf  dead  with  fatigue. 

I  sent  everybody  away  rather  sharply  and  went  up  to  my 
room.  As  my  maid  was  helping  me  to  undress  she  told  me 
that  some  one  had  come  for  me  from  the  Comedie  PVangaise 
several  times. 

"  Oh,  mon  Dieiil  "  I  cried  an.xiously.  "  Could  the  piece 
have  been  changed?  " 

"  No,  I  don't  think  so,"  said  the  maid.  "  But  it  appears 
that  M.  Perrin  is  furious,  and  that  they  are  all  against  you. 
There  is  the  note  which  was  left  for  you." 

I  opened  the  letter.  I  was  requested  to  appear  before  the 
Administration  the  following  day  at  two  o'clock. 

On  my  arrival  at  Perrin 's  at  the  time  appointed,  I  was  re- 
ceived with  an  exaggerated  politeness  which  had  an  under- 
current of  severity. 

Then  commenced  a  series  of  onslaughts  on  my  fits  of  ill 
temper,  my  caprices,  my  eccentricities;  and  he  finished  his 
speech  by  saying  that  I  had  incurred  a  fine  of  £40  for  traveling 
W'ithout  the  consent  of  the  manager. 

I  burst  out  laughing:  "  The  case  of  a  balloon  has  not  been 
foreseen,"  I  said,  "  and  I  can  promise  you  I  shall  pay  no  fine. 
Outside  the  theater  I  do  as  I  please,  and  that  is  no  business  of 
yours,  my  dear  M.  Perrin,  so  long  as  I  am  not  doing  anything 
that  would  injure  my  theatrical  work!  And,  besides — you  bore 
me  to  death ! — I  will  resign ! — Be  happy !  ' ' 

I  left  him  ashamed  and  anxious. 

The  next  day  I  sent  in  my  written  resignation  to  "SI.  Perrin, 
and  shortly  afterwards  I  was  sent  for  by  M.  Turquet.  ^Minister 
of  Fine  Arts.  I  refused  to  go,  and  they  sent  a  mutual  friend, 
who  stated  that  M.  Perrin  had  gone  further  than  he  had  any 
right,  that  the  fine  was  remitted,  and  that  I  must  take  back 
my  resignation.    So  I  did. 

300 


A    BALLOON    ASCENSION 

But  the  situation  was  strained.  My  fame  had  become  an- 
noying for  my  enemies,  and  a  little  trying,  I  confess,  for  my 
friends.  But  at  this  time  all  this  stir  and  noise  amused  me 
vastly.  I  did  nothing  to  attract  attention;  but  my  fantastic 
tastes,  my  paleness  and  thinness,  my  particular  way  of  dressing, 
my  scorn  of  fashion,  my  general  freedom  in  all  respects,  made 
me  a  being  set  apart.     I  did  not  recognize  this  fact. 

I  did  not  read — I  never  read — the  newspapers.  So  I  did  not 
know  what  was  said  about  me,  either  favorable  or  unfavorable. 
Surrounded  by  a  court  of  adorers  of  both  sexes,  I  lived  in  a 
sunny  dream.  All  the  royal  personages  and  the  notabilities  who 
were  the  guests  of  France  during  the  Exhibition  of  1878  came 
to  see  me.    This  was  a  constant  source  of  pleasure  to  me. 

The  Comedie  was  the  first  theatrical  stage  of  all  these  illus- 
trious visitors,  and  Croizette  and  I  played  nearly  every  evening. 
While  I  was  playing  Amphytrion  I  fell  seriously  ill,  and  was 
sent  to  the  South. 

I  remained  there  two  months.  I  lived  at  Mentone,  but  I 
made  Cap  Martin  my  headquarters.  I  had  a  tent  put  up  on 
the  spot  that  the  Empress  Eugenie  afterwards  selected  to  build 
her  villa.  I  did  not  want  to  see  anybody,  and  I  thought  that 
by  living  in  a  tent,  so  far  from  the  town,  I  should  not  be  trou- 
bled with  visitors.  This  was  a  mistake.  One  day  when  I  was 
having  lunch  with  my  little  boy,  I  heard  the  bells  of  two  horses 
which  had  come  with  a  carriage.  The  road  overhung  my  tent, 
which  was  half  hidden  by  the  bushes.  Suddenly  a  voice  which 
I  knew,  but  could  not  recognize,  cried  in  the  emphatic  tone  of 
a  herald: 

"  Does  Sarah  Bernhardt,  Associate  of  the  Comedie  Fran- 
gaise,  live  here?  " 

We  did  not  move.  The  question  was  asked  again.  Again 
the  answer  was  silence.  But  we  heard  the  sound  of  breaking 
branches,  the  bushes  were  pushed  apart,  and  at  two  yards  from 
the  tent  the  teasing  voice  recommenced. 

We  were  discovered.  Somewhat  annoyed  I  came  out.  I  saw 
before  me  a  man  with  a  large  tussore  cloak  on,  a  field  glass 
strapped  on  his  shoulders,  a  gray  bowler  hat,  and  a  red,  happy 

301 


MEMOIIIES    OF    MY    LIFE 

face  with  a  little  pointed  IxMid.  T  j^danced  at  this  eomnion place- 
loukiug  individual  with  anytliiii<f  but  favor,     lie  lifted  his  hat: 

"  Miue.  Sarah  Bernhardt  is  here?  " 

"  What  do  you  want  with  nie,  sir?  " 

"  Here  is  my  card,  madauie. " 

I  read:  "  (laiiil)ard,  Nice,  Villa  des  Palmiers."  I  looked  at 
him  with  astonishment,  and  he  was  still  more  astonished  to  see 
that  his  name  did  not  produce  any  impression  on  me.  He  had 
a  foreign  accent. 

"  Well,  you  see,  madame,  I  come  to  ask  you  to  sell  us  your 
group,  '  After  the  Tempest.'  " 

I  began  to  laugh. 

"  Ma  foi,  monsieur,  I  am  treating  for  that  with  the  firm 
of  Susse,  and  they  offer  me  6000  francs.  If  you  will  give  ten, 
you  may  have  it." 

"  Quite  right,"  he  said.  "  Here  are  10,000  francs.  Have 
you  pen  and  ink?  "  ' 

"  No." 

"  Ah,"  said  he,  "  allow  me."  And  he  produced  a  little 
case  in  w^hich  there  was  pen  and  ink. 

I  made  out  the  receipt,  and  gave  him  an  order  to  go  and 
take  the  group  at  Paris,  in  my  studio.  He  went  away,  and 
I  heard  the  bells  of  the  horses  ringing  and  then  dying  away  in 
the  distance.  After  this  I  was  often  invited  to  the  house  of 
this  original  person,  who  was  one  of  the  negro  kings  of  Nice. 

Shortly  after  I  came  back  to  Paris.  At  the  theater  they 
were  preparing  for  the  benefit  night  of  Bressant,  who  was  about 
to  leave  the  stage.  It  was  agreed  that  Mounet-Sully  and  I 
should  play  an  act  from  "  Othello,"  by  Jean  Aicard.  The 
theater  was  well  filled,  and  the  audience  in  a  good  humor.  After 
the  song  of  Saule,  I  was  in  bed  as  Desdemona,  when  suddenly 
I  heard  the  public  laugh,  softly  at  first,  and  then  irrepressibly. 
Othello  had  just  come  in,  in  the  darkness,  in  his  shirt  or  very 
little  more,  with  a  lantern  in  his  hand,  and  gone  to  a  door  hid- 
den in  some  drapery.  The  public,  that  impersonal  unity,  has 
no  hesitation  in  taking  part  in  a  manifestation  of  unseemly 
mirth  that  each  member  of  the  audience,  taken  as  a  separate 

302 


A    BALLOON    ASCENSION 

individual,  would  be  ashamed  to  admit.  But  the  ridicule 
thrown  on  this  act  by  the  exaggerated  pantomime  of  the  actor 
prevented  the  play  being  staged  again,  and  it  was  only  twenty 
years  later  that  "  Othello,"  as  an  entire  play,  was  produced 
at  the  Theatre  Franeais.    I  was  then  no  longer  there. 

After  having  played  Berenice,  in  "  Mithridate,"  success- 
fully, I  took  up  again  my  role  of  the  Queen  in  "  Ruy  Bias." 
The  play  was  as  successful  at  the  Theatre  Franeais  as  at  the 
Odeon,  and  the  public  was,  if  anything,  still  more  favorable 
to  me.  Mounet-Sully  played  Ruy  Bias.  He  took  the  part  ad- 
mirably, and  was  infinitely  better  than  Lafontaine,  who  played 
it  at  the  Odeon.  Frederic  Febvre,  very  well  dressed,  repre- 
sented his  part  very  well,  but  he  was  not  so  good  as  Geffroy,  who 
was  the  most  distinguished  and  the  most  frightful  Don  Salluste 
that  could  be  imagined. 

My  relations  with  Perrin  were  more  and  more  strained. 

He  was  pleased  that  I  was  successful,  for  the  sake  of  the 
theater;  he  was  happy  at  the  magnificent  receipts  of  "  Ruy 
Bias  ";  but  he  would  have  much  preferred  that  it  had  been 
another  than  I  who  received  all  the  applaiLse.  My  independ- 
ence, my  horror  of  submission,  even  in  appearance,  annoyed 
him  vastly. 

One  day  my  servant  came  to  tell  me  that  an  elderly  English- 
man was  asking  to  see  me  so  insistently  that  he  thought  it  bet- 
ter to  come  and  tell  me,  though  I  had  given  orders  I  was  not 
to  be  disturbed. 

' '  Send  him  away  and  let  me  work  in  peace. ' ' 

I  was  just  commencing  a  picture  which  interested  me  very 
much.  It  represented  a  little  girl  on  Palm  Sunday,  carrying 
branches  of  palm.  The  little  model  who  posed  for  me  was  a 
lovely  Italian  of  eight  years  old.     Suddenly  she  said  to  me : 

"  He's  quarreling — that  Englishman!  " 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  in  the  anteroom  there  was  a  noise  of 
voices  rising  higher  and  higher.  Irritated,  I  rushed  out,  my 
palette  in  my  hand,  resolved  to  make  the  intruder  flee.  But 
just  at  the  moment  when  I  opened  the  door  of  my  studio,  a  tall 
man  came  so  close  to  me  that  I  drew  back,  and  he  came  into 

303 


MEMORIES    OF    MV    TJFE 

my  hall.  ITis  eyes  were  clear  and  piercing,  his  hair  silvery 
white,  and  his  beard  carefully  trimmed.  He  made  his  excuses 
very  politely,  admired  my  paintings,  my  sculpture,  my  hall — 
and  this  while  I  was  in  complete  ignorance  of  his  name.  When 
at  the  end  of  ten  minutes  I  begged  him  to  sit  down  and  tell  me 
to  what  1  owed  the  pleasure  of  his  visit,  he  replied  in  a  stilted 
voice  with  a  strong  accent : 

"  I  am  Mr.  Jarrett,  the  impresario.  I  can  make  your  for- 
tune.   Will  you  come  to  America?  " 

"  Never!  "  I  exclaimed  firmly.     "  Never!  " 

' '  Oh,  well,  don 't  get  angry !  Here  is  my  address — don 't 
lose  it. ' '     Then,  at  the  moment  he  took  leave,  he  said : 

'  *  Ah !  you  are  going  to  London  with  the  Comedie  Francaise. 
Would  you  like  to  earn  a  lot  of  money  in  London?  " 

"  Yes.     How?  " 

"  By  playing  in  drawing-rooms.  I  can  make  you  a  small 
fortune. ' ' 

"  Oh,  I  would  be  pleased  to  do  that — that  is,  if  I  go  to  Lon- 
don, for  I  have  not  yet  decided." 

"  Then  will  you  sign  a  little  contract  to  which  we  will  add 
an  additional  clause?  " 

And  I  signed  a  contract  with  this  man,  who  inspired  me 
with  confidence  at  first  sight — a  confidence  which  he  never 
betrayed. 

The  Committee  and  ]\I.  Perrin  had  made  an  agreement  with 
John  Hollingshead,  director  of  the  Gaiety  Theater,  in  London. 
Nobody  had  been  consulted  and  I  thought  that  was  a  little  too 
free  and  easy.  So  when  they  told  me  about  this  agreement,  I 
said  nothing.     Perrin  rather  anxiously  took  me  aside : 

"  What  are  you  turning  over  in  your  mind?  " 

"  I  am  turning  over  this:  that  I  will  not  go  to  London  in 
a  situation  inferior  to  anybody.  For  the  entire  term  of  my  con- 
tract I  intend  to  be  Associate  a  part  entiere  (with  full  benefit)." 

This  intention  excited  the  Committee  highly.  And  the  next 
day  Perrin  told  me  that  my  proposal  was  rejected. 

"  Well,  I  shall  not  go  to  London.  That  is  all!  Nothing  in 
my  contract  obliges  me  to  go." 

304 


SARAH    BERNHARDT,    PORTRAIT   BY   CLAIRIN. 


A    BALLOON    ASCENSION 

The  Committee  met  again,  and  Got  cried  out:  "  Well,  let  her 
stay  away !     She  is  a  regular  nuisance !  ' ' 

It  was  therefore  decided  that  I  should  not  go  to  London. 
But  Hollingshead  and  Mayer,  his  partner,  did  not  see  it  in  this 
light,  and  they  declared  that  the  contract  would  not  be  bind- 
ing if  either  Croizette,  Mounet-Sully,  or  I  did  not  go. 

The  agents,  who  had  bought  two  hundred  thousand  francs' 
worth  of  tickets  beforehand,  also  refused  to  regard  the  affair 
as  binding  on  them  if  we  did  not  go.  Mayer  came  to  see  me 
in  profound  despair  and  told  me  all  about  it. 

"  We  shall  have  to  break  our  contract  with  the  Comedie 
if  you  don't  come,"  he  said,  *'  for  the  business  cannot  go 
through. ' ' 

Frightened  at  the  consequences  of  my  bad  temper,  I  ran  to 
see  Perrin,  and  told  him  that  after  the  consultation  I  had  just 
had  with  Mayer,  I  understood  the  involuntary  injury  I  should 
be  causing  to  the  Theatre  Francais  and  to  my  comrades,  and  I 
told  him  I  was  ready  to  go  under  any  conditions. 

The  Committee  was  holding  a  meeting.  Perrin  asked  me 
to  wait  and  shortly  after  he  returned :  Croizette  and  I  had  been 
appointed  Associates  with  full  benefit  {Societaires  a  part  en- 
tiere ) ,  not  only  for  London,  but  for  always. 

Everybody  had  done  his  duty.  Perrin,  very  much  touched, 
took  both  my  hands  and  drew  me  to  him: 

' '  Oh,  the  good  and  untamable  little  creature !  ' ' 

We  embraced  and  peace  was  again  concluded  between  us. 
But  it  could  not  last  long,  for  five  days  after  this  reconciliation, 
about  nine  o'clock  in  the  evening,  M.  Perrin  was  announced 
at  my  house.  I  had  company  for  dinner.  Nevertheless,  I  was 
about  to  receive  him  in  the  hall.    He  held  out  to  me  a  paper. 

"  Read  that,"  said  he. 

And  I  read  in  an  English  newspaper,  the  Times,  this  para- 
graph : 

"  Drawing-room  Comedies  of  Mile.  Sarah  Bernhardt,  under 
the  management  of  Sir  Benedict: 

"  The  repertoire  of  Mile.  Sarah  Bernhardt  is  composed  of 
comedies,  proverbs,  one-act  plays  and  monologues,  written  espe- 
21  305 


MEM()IUi:S    OF    MV    LIFE 

cially  lor  Ini"  Jiiid  one  or  two  (irlistts  of  the  Comedie  Francaise. 
'Plicsc  comedies  arc,  j)layed  witliout  accessories  or  scenery,  and 
can  bo  adapted  both  in  London  and  Paris  to  the  matinees  and 
soirrrs  of  the  best  society.  For  all  details  and  conditions  please 
e.oiiiiiiunieate  with  Mr.  Jarrett  (Secretary  of  Mile.  Sarah  Bern- 
hardt) at  His  IMa.jesty's  Theatre." 

As  I  was  reading  the  last  lines  it  dawned  on  nie  that  Jarrett, 
leaniino-  that  I  was  certainly  coming  to  London,  had  begun  to 
advertise  me.     I  frankly  explained  this  to  Perrin. 

"  What  objection  is  there,"  I  said,  "  to  my  making  use 
of  my  evenings  to  earn  money,  as  the  thing  has  been  offered 
me?  " 

"  That  has  nothing  to  do  with  me — it  is  the  business  of  the 
Committee. ' ' 

"  That  is  too  much!  "  I  cried,  and  calling  for  my  secretary 
I  said:  "  Give  me  Delaunay's  letter  that  1  gave  you  yesterday." 

He  brought  it  out  of  one  of  his  numerous  pockets  and  gave 
it  to  Perrin  to  read: 

Would  you  care  to  come  and  play  "La  Nuit  d'Octobre"  at  Lady  Dud- 
ley's on  Thursday,  June  5th?  They  will  give  us  each  5,000  francs.  Kind 
regards, 

Delaunay. 

"  Let  me  have  this  letter,"  said  the  manager,  visibly  an- 
noyed. 

"  No,  I  will  not.  But  you  may  tell  Delaunay  that  I  have 
told  you  of  his  offer." 

For  the  next  tw'o  or  three  days  nothing  was  talked  of  in 
Paris  but  the  scandalous  announcement  of  the  Times.  The 
French  were  then  almost  entirely  ignorant  of  the  habits  and 
customs  of  the  English.  At  last  all  this  talk  annoyed  me,  and 
I  begged  Perrin  to  try  and  stop  it,  and  the  following  day  there 
appeared  in  the  National  of  the  29th  of  May : 

"  Much  Ado  About  NotJiing.  In  friendly  discussion  it  has 
been  decided  that  outside  the  rehearsals  and  the  performances 
of  the  Comedie  Francaise,  each  artist  is  free  to  employ  his  time 
as  he  sees  fit.     There  is  therefore  absolutely  no  truth  at  all  in 

306 


A    BALLOON    ASCENSION 

the  pretended  quarrel  between  the  Comedie  Francaise  and  Mile. 
Sarah  Bernhardt.  This  artiste  has  only  acted  strictly  within 
her  rights,  which  nobody  attempts  to  limit,  and  all  our  artistes 
intend  to  benefit  in  the  same  manner.  The  manager  of  the 
Comedie  Francaise  asks  only  that  the  artistes  who  form  this 
'  corps  '  do  not  give  performances  in  a  body." 

This  article  came  from  the  Comedie,  and  the  members  of 
the  Committee  had  taken  advantage  of  it  to  advertise  a  little 
for  themselves,  announcing  that  they  also  were  ready  to  play 
in  drawing-rooms,  for  the  article  was  sent  to  Mayer  with  a 
request  that  it  should  appear  in  the  English  papers.  It  was 
Mayer  himself  who  told  me  this. 

All  disputes  being  at  an  end,  we  commenced  our  preparations 
for  departure. 


307 


CHAPTER   XXI 


MY   LONDON    DEBUT 


HAD  never  been  on  the  sea  when  it  was  decided  that 
.,  the  urtistcs  of  the  Comedie  Francaise  should  go  to 

!^V|5  ^^  London.  The  determined  ignorance  of  the  French 
concerning  all  things  foreign  was  much  more  pro- 
nounced in  those  days  than  it  is  at  present.  As  for  me,  my 
ignorance  was  quite  pathetic.  I  had  a  very  warm  cloak  made, 
as  I  had  been  assured  that  the  crossing  was  icy  cold,  even  in  the 
very  middle  of  summer,  and  I  believed  this.  On  every  side  I 
was  besieged  v.ith  lozenges  for  seasickness,  sedative  for  head- 
ache, tissue  paper  to  put  down  my  back,  little  compress  plasters 
to  put  on  my  diaphragm,  and  waterproof  cork  soles  for  my  shoes, 
for  it  appeared  that  above  all  things  I  must  not  have  cold  feet. 
Oh,  how  droll  and  amusing  it  all  was!  I  took  everything,  paid 
attention  to  all  the  recommendations  and  believed  everything  I 
was  told. 

The  most  inconceivable  thing  of  all,  though,  was  the  arrival, 
five  minutes  before  the  boat  started,  of  an  enormous  wooden  case. 
It  was  very  light  and  was  held  by  a  tall  young  man,  who  to-day 
is  a  most  remarkable  individual,  with  all  the  crosses,  all  the 
honors,  an  immense  fortune,  and  the  most  outrageous  vanity. 
At  that  time  he  was  a  shy  inventor,  young,  poor,  and  sad ;  he  was 
alwaj's  buried  in  books  which  treated  of  abstract  questions,  while 
of  life  he  knew  absolutely  nothing.  He  had  a  great  admiration 
for  me,  mingled  with  a  trifle  of  awe.  My  little  court  had  sur- 
named  him  ' '  La  Quenelle. ' '  He  was  long,  vacillating,  colorless, 
and  really  did  resemble  the  thin  roll  of  forcemeat  in  a  vol- 
au-vent. 

308 


MY    LONDON    DEBUT 

He  came  up  to  me,  his  face  more  wan  looking  even  than  usual. 
The  boat  was  moving  a  little,  my  departure  terrified  him,  and  the 
wund  caused  him  to  plunge  from  right  to  left.  He  made  a 
mysterious  sign  to  me  and  I  followed  him,  accompanied  by  wia 
petite  dame  and  leaving  my  friends,  who  were  inclined  to  be 
ironical,  behind.  When  I  was  seated,  he  opened  the  case  and 
took  out  an  enormous  life  belt  invented  by  himself.  I  was  per- 
fectly astounded,  for  I  was  unused  to  sea  voyages,  and  the  idea 
had  never  even  occurred  to  me  that  we  might  be  shipwrecked 
during  one  hour's  crossing.  "  La  Quenelle  "  was  by  no  means 
disconcerted,  and  he  put  the  belt  on  himself  in  order  to  show  me 
how  it  was  used. 

Nothing  could  have  looked  more  foolish  than  this  man  with 
his  sad,  serious  face,  putting  on  this  apparatus.  There  were  a 
dozen  egg-sized  bladders  round  the  belt,  eleven  of  which  were 
filled  with  air  and  contained  a  lump  of  sugar  each.  In  the 
twelfth,  a  very  small  bladder,  were  ten  drops  of  brandy.  In  the 
middle  of  the  belt  was  a  tiny  cushion  with  a  few  pins  on  it. 

"  You  understand,"  he  said  to  me.  "  You  fall  in  the  water 
paff — you  stay  like  this. ' '  Hereupon  he  pretended  to  sit  down, 
rising  and  sinking  -with,  the  movement  of  the  waves,  his  two 
hands  in  front  of  him  laid  upon  the  imaginary  sea,  and  his  neck 
stretched  like  that  of  a  tortoise  in  order  to  keep  his  head  above 
water. 

"  You  see,  you  have  now  been  in  the  water  for  two  hours," 
he  explained,  "  and  you  want  to  get  back  your  strength.  You 
take  a  pin  and  prick  an  egg,  like  this.  You  take  your  lump  of 
sugar  and  eat  it,  that  is  as  good  as  a  quarter  of  a  pound  of 
meat,"  He  then  threw  the  broken  bladder  overboard,  and  from 
the  packing  case  brought  out  another,  which  he  fastened  to  the 
life  belt.  He  had  evidently  thought  of  everything.  I  was 
petrified  with  amazement.  A  few  of  my  friends  had  gathered 
round,  hoping  for  one  of  "  La  Quenelle's  "  mad  freaks,  but  they 
had  never  expected  anything  like  this  one. 

M.  Mayer,  one  of  our  impresarios,  fearing  a  scandal  of  too 
absurd  a  kind,  dispersed  the  people  who  were  gathering  round 
us.     I  did  not  know  whether  to  be  angry  or  to  laugh,  but  the 

309 


.MEMORIES    OF    y\\    LIFE 

jeering,  unjust  speech  oi"  one  oi'  my  friends  roused  my  pity  for 
this  poor  "  (Quenelle."  I  Ihouj^dit  of  the  hours  he  had  spent 
in  planniii^%  ('onibinin;,%  and  then  manufacturing  his  ridiculous 
machine.  I  was  touched  by  the  anxiety  and  affection  which 
had  prompted  the  invention  of  this  life-saving  apparatus,  and  I 
held  out  my  hand  to  my  poor  "  Quenelle,"  saying:  "  Be  off, 
now,  quickly,  the  boat  is  just  going  to  start." 

He  kissed  the  hand  held  out  to  him  in  a  friendly  way,  and 
hurried  off'.  I  then  called  my  steward  Claude,  and  I  said, 
"  As  soon  as  we  are  out  of  sight  of  land  throw  that  case  and  all 
it  contains  into  the  sea." 

The  departure  of  the  boat  was  accompanied  by  shouts  of 
"  Hurrah!  Au  revoir!  Success!  Good  luck!  "  There  was  a 
waving  of  hands,  handkerchiefs  floating  in  the  air,  and  kisses 
thrown  haphazard  to  everyone. 

But  what  was  really  fine  and  a  sight  I  shall  never  forget,  was 
our  landing  at  Folkestone.  There  were  thousands  of  people 
there,  and  it  was  the  first  time  I  had  ever  heard  the  cry  of  ' '  Vive 
Sarah  Bernhardt!  " 

I  turned  my  head  and  saw  before  me  a  pale  young  man,  the 
ideal  face  of  Hamlet.  He  presented  me  with  a  gardenia.  I  was 
destined  to  admire  him  later  on  as  Hamlet.  He  was  Forbes- 
Robertson.  We  passed  on  through  a  crowd  offering  us  flowers 
and  shaking  hands,  and  I  soon  saw  that  I  was  more  favored  than 
the  others.  This  slightly  embarrassed  me,  but  I  was  delighted  all 
the  same.  One  of  my  comrades,  w'ho  was  just  near,  and  with 
whom  I  was  not  a  favorite,  said  to  me,  in  a  spiteful  tone: 
"They'll  make  you  a  carpet  of  flowers  soon." 

"  Here  is  one!  "  exclaimed  a  young  man,  throwing  an  armful 
of  lilies  on  the  ground  in  front  of  me.  I  stopped  short,  rather 
confused,  not  daring  to  walk  on  these  white  flowers,  but  the 
crowd  pressing  on  behind  compelled  me  to  advance,  and  the 
poor  lilies  had  to  be  trodden  under  foot. 

"  Hip,  hip,  hurrah!  a  cheer  for  Sarah  Bernhardt!  "  shouted 
the  turbulent  young  man.  His  head  was  above  all  the  other 
heads,  he  had  luminous  eyes  and  long  hair,  and  looked  like  a 
German  student.     He  was  an  English  poet,  though,  and  one  of 

310 


MY    LONDON    DEBUT 

the  greatest  of  this  century,  a  poet  who  was  a  genius,  but  who 
was,  alas!  tortured  and  finally  vanquished  by  madness.  It  was 
Oscar  Wilde.  The  crowd  responded  to  his  appeal,  and  we 
reached  our  train  amid  shouts  of  ' '  Hip,  hip,  hurrah,  for  Sarah 
Bernhardt!     Hip,  hip,  hurrah,  for  the  French  artistes  I  " 

When  the  train  arrived  at  Charing  Cross  toward  nine 
o'clock,  we  were  nearly  an  hour  late.  A  feeling  of  sadness  came 
over  me.  The  weather  was  gloomy,  and  then,  too,  I  thought  we 
should  have  been  greeted  again  upon  our  arrival  in  London  with 
more  "hurrahs!  ..."  There  were  plenty  of  people,  crowds 
of  people,  but  none  appeared  to  know  us. 

On  reaching  the  station  I  had  noticed  that  there  was  a  hand- 
some carpet  laid  down  and  I  thought  it  was  for  us.  Oh,  I  was 
prepared  for  anything,  as  our  reception  at  Folkestone  had 
turned  my  head.  The  carpet,  however,  had  been  laid  down  for 
their  Royal  Highnesses  the  Prince  and  the  Princess  of  Wales, 
who  had  just  left  for  Paris. 

This  news  disappointed  me  and  even  annoyed  me  personally. 
I  had  been  told  that  all  London  was  quivering  with  excitement 
at  the  very  idea  of  the  visit  of  the  Comedie  Francaise,  and  I  had 
found  London  extremely  indifferent.  The  crowd  was  large  and 
very  compact,  but  cold. 

' '  Why  have  the  Prince  and  Princess  gone  away  to-day  ?  ' ' 
I  asked  M.  Mayer. 

"  Well,  because  they  had  decided  beforehand  about  this  visit 
to  Paris,"  he  replied. 

"  Oh,  then  they  won't  be  here  for  our  first  night?  "  I  con- 
tinued. 

' '  No,  the  Prince  has  taken  a  box  for  the  season  for  which  he 
has  paid  four  hundred  pounds,  but  it  will  be  used  by  the  Duke 
of  Connaught." 

I  was  in  despair.  I  don't  know  why,  but  I  certainly  was 
in  despair,  as  I  felt  that  everything  was  going  wrong. 

A  footman  led  the  way  to  my  carriage,  and  I  drove  through 
London  with  a  heavy  heart.  Everything  looked  dark  and  dis- 
mal, and  when  I  reached  the  house — 77,  Chester  Square — I  did 
not  want  to  get  out  of  my  carriage. 

311 


MEMORIES    or    yi\    LIFE 

The  door  of  the  house  was  wide  open,  thoufrh,  and  in  the 
brilliantly  lighted  hall  I  could  see  what  looked  like  all  the  flowers 
oil  earth  arraii^'cd  in  baskets,  houcjuets,  and  hujrc  l>uncheH.  I 
j?ot  out  of  the  carriajjrc  and  entered  the  house  in  which  I  was  to 
live  for  tlie  next  six  weeks.  All  the  branches  seemed  to  be 
stretching  out  their  flowers  to  nie. 

"  Have  you  the  cards  that  came  with  all  these  flowers?  "  I 
asked  my  manservant. 

"  Yes,"  he  replied.  "  I  have  put  them  together  on  a  tray. 
All  of  them  are  from  Paris,  from  madame's  friends  there.  This 
one  is  the  only  bouquet  from  here."  lie  handed  me  an  enor- 
mous one,  and  on  the  card  with  it,  I  read  the  words :  ' '  Wel- 
come!— Henry  Irving." 

I  went  all  through  the  house  and  it  seemed  to  me  very 
dismal  looking.  I  visited  the  garden,  but  the  damp  seemed  to  go 
through  me,  and  my  teeth  chattered  when  I  came  in  again.  That 
night,  when  I  went  to  sleep,  my  heart  was  heavy  with  foreboding, 
as  though  I  were  on  the  eve  of  some  misfortune. 

The  following  day  was  given  up  to  receiving  journalists.  I 
wanted  to  see  them  all  at  the  same  time,  but  IMr.  Jarrett  ob- 
jected to  this.  The  man  was  a  veritable  advertising  genius.  I 
had  no  idea  of  it  at  that  time.  He  had  made  me  some  very  good 
offers  for  America,  and  although  I  had  refused  them,  I  never- 
theless held  a  very  high  opinion  of  him,  on  account  of  his  in- 
telligence, his  comic  humor,  and  my  need  of  being  piloted  in  this 
new  country. 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  if  you  receive  them  all  together,  they  will 
all  be  furious,  and  you  will  get  some  wretched  articles ;  you  must 
receive  them  one  after  the  other." 

Thirty-seven  journalists  came  that  day,  and  Jarrett  insisted 
on  my  seeing  every  one  of  them.  He  stayed  in  the  room  and 
saved  the  situation  when  I  said  anything  foolish.  I  spoke  Eng- 
lish very  badly,  and  some  of  the  men  spoke  French  very  badly. 
Jarrett  translated  my  answers  to  them.  I  remember  perfectly 
well  that  all  of  them  began  with:  "  "Well,  mademoiselle,  what 
do  you  think  of  London?  " 

I  had  arrived  the  previous  evening  at  nine  o'clock,  and  the 

312 


MY    LONDON    DEBUT 

first  of  these  journalists  asked  me  this  question  at  ten  in  the 
morning.  I  had  drawn  my  curtain  back  on  getting  up,  and  all 
I  knew  of  London  was  Chester  Square,  a  small  square  of  somber 
verdure,  in  the  midst  of  which  was  a  black  statue,  and  the 
horizon  bounded  by  an  ugly  church. 

I  really  could  not  answer  the  question,  but  Jarrett  was 
quite  prepared  for  this,  and  I  learned  the  following  morning 
that  "  I  was  most  enthusiastic  about  the  beauty  of  London, 
that  I  had  already  seen  a  number  of  the  public  buildings," 
etc.,  etc. 

Toward  five  o'clock,  Hortense  Damian  arrived.  She  was  a 
charming  woman,  and  a  favorite  in  London  society.     She  had 

come  to  inform  me  that  the  Duchess  of  and  Lady  R 

would  call  on  me  at  half  past  five. 

' '  Oh,  stay  with  me,  then  !  "  I  said  to  her.  ' '  You  know  how 
unsociable  I  am;  I  feel  sure  that  I  shall  be  stupid." 

At  the  time  fixed  my  visitors  were  announced.  This  was  the 
first  time  I  had  come  into  contact  with  any  members  of  the  Eng- 
lish aristocracy,  and  I  have  always  had  since  a  very  pleasant 
memory  of  it. 

Lady  R was  extremely  beautiful,  and  the  Duchess  was 

so  gracious,  so  distinguished  and  so  kind  that  I  was  very  much 
touched  by  her  visit. 

A  few  minutes  later  Lord  Dudley  called.  I  knew  him  very 
well,  as  he  had  been  introduced  to  me  by  Marshal  Canrobert, 
one  of  my  dearest  friends.  He  asked  me  if  I  would  care  to 
have  a  ride  the  following  morning,  and  said  he  had  a  very  nice 
lady's  horse  which  was  entirely  at  my  service.  I  thanked  him, 
but  I  wanted  first  to  drive  in  Rotten  Row. 

At  seven  o'clock  Hortense  Damian  came  to  fetch  me  to  dine 

with  her  at  the  house  of  the  Baroness  INI .     She  had  a  very 

nice  home  in  Prince's  Gate.  There  were  about  twenty  guests, 
among  others  the  painter,  Millais.  I  had  been  told  that  the 
cuisine  was  very  bad  in  England,  but  I  thought  this  dinner 
perfect.  I  had  been  told  that  the  English  were  cold  and  sedate. 
I  found  them  charming  and  full  of  humor.  Everyone  spoke 
French  very  well  and  I  was  ashamed  of  my  ignorance  of  the 

313 


MEMORIES    OF    MY    LIFE 

Eiiplisli  hiiij^iKi^'c.  After  (liiuici-  tlicre  were  recitations  and 
music.  I  wiis  touched  by  the  gracefulness  ;ind  tact  of  my  hosts 
in  not  askin*;  nic  to  say  any  poetry. 

I  was  very  nnich  interested  in  observing  the  society  in  which 
I  found  inyscir.  It  did  not  in  any  way  resemble  a  French 
gathcriii";.  The  young  girls  seemed  to  be  enjoying  themselves 
on  tlieii"  own  account  and  enjoying  themselves  thoroughly. 
They  had  not  come  there  to  find  a  husband.  What  surprised 
me  a  littk^  was  the  decollete  of  ladies  who  were  getting  on  in 
years  and  to  whom  time  had  not  been  very  merciful.  I  spoke 
of  this  to  Hortense  Damian, 

"It's  frightful!  "  I  said. 

"  Yes,  but  it's  chid  " 

She  was  very  charming,  my  friend  Hortense,  but  she  trou- 
bled about  nothing  that  was  not  chic.  She  sent  me  the  '*  Chic 
commandments  "  a  few  days  before  I  left  Paris. 

Chester  Square,  tu  habiteras. 
Rotten  Row,  tu  monteras. 
Le  Parlement  visiteras. 
Garden-parties  frequenteras. 
Cha(jue  visite,  tu  rendras. 
A  chaque  lettre,  tu  repondras. 
Photographies,  tu  signeras. 
Hortense  Damain,  tu  ecouteras, 
Et  tous  ses  conseils,  les  suivras. 

(In  Chester  Square  thou  shalt  live. 
In  Rotten  Row  thou  shalt  ride. 
Parliament  thou  shalt  visit. 
Garden  parties  thou  shalt  frequent. 
Every  visit  thou  shalt  return. 
Every  letter  thou  shalt  answer. 
Photographs  thou  shalt  sign. 
To  Hortense  Damian  thou  shalt  listen, 
And  all  her  counsels  thou  shalt  follow.) 

I  laughed  at  these  '*  commandments,"  but  I  soon  realized 
that,  under  this  jocular  form,  she  considered  them  as  very  seri- 
ous and  important.     Alas!  my  poor  friend  had  hit  upon  the 

314 


MY    LONDON    DEBUT 

wrong  person  for  her  counsels.  I  detested  paying  visits,  writing 
letters,  signing  photographs,  or  following  anyone's  advice.  I 
adore  having  people  come  to  see  me,  and  I  detest  going  to  see 
them.  I  adore  receiving  letters,  reading  them,  commenting  on 
them,  but  I  detest  writing  them.  I  detest  riding  and  driving 
in  frequented  parts,  and  I  adore  lonely  roads  and  solitary 
places.  I  adore  giving  advice  and  I  detest  receiving  it,  and  I 
never  follow  at  once  any  wise  advice  that  is  given  me.  It  al- 
ways requires  an  effort  of  my  will  to  recognize  the  justice  of 
any  counsel,  and  then  an  effort  of  my  intellect  to  be  grateful 
for  it;  at  first  it  simply  annoys  me.  Consequently,  I  paid  no 
attention  to  Hortense  Damian's  counsels,  nor  yet  to  Jarrett's, 
and  in  this  I  made  a  great  mistake,  for  many  people  were  vexed 
with  me — and,  in  any  other  country,  I  should  have  made  ene- 
mies. On  that  first  visit  to  London  what  a  quantity  of  letters 
of  invitation  I  received  to  which  I  never  replied!  How  many 
charming  women  called  upon  me  and  I  never  returned  their 
calls!  Then,  too,  how  many  times  I  accepted  invitations  to 
dinner  and  never  went  after  all,  nor  did  I  even  send  a  line  of 
excuse.  It  is  perfectly  odious,  I  know,  and  yet  I  always  accept 
with  pleasure  and  intend  to  go;  but  when  the  day  comes  I  am 
tired,  perhaps,  or  want  to  have  a  quiet  time,  or  to  be  free  from 
any  obligation,  and  when  I  am  obliged  to  decide  one  way  or 
another,  the  time  has  gone  by,  and  it  is  too  late  to  send  word 
and  too  late  to  go.  And  so  I  stay  at  home,  dissatisfied  with  my- 
self, with  everyone  else,  and  Avith  everything. 

Hospitality  is  a  quality  made  up  of  primitive  taste  and  an- 
tique grandeur.  The  English  are,  in  my  opinion,  the  most  hos- 
pitable people  on  earth,  and  they  are  hospitable  simply  and 
munificently.  When  an  Englishman  has  opened  his  door  to 
you  he  never  closes  it  again.  He  excuses  your  faults  and  accepts 
your  peculiarities.  It  is  thanks  to  this  broadness  of  ideas  that 
I  have  been  for  twenty-five  years  the  beloved  and  pampered 
artiste. 

1  was  delighted  with  my  first  soiree  in  London,  and  I  re- 
turned home  very  gay  and  very  much  "  anglomaniaized. "  I 
found  some  of  my  friends  there — Parisians  who  had  just  ar- 

315 


MiaiORIES    OI'    MY    LIFE 

rived,  i\ud  llicy  were  fiii-ious.  My  enthusiasm  exasperated  them, 
and  we  sat  up  arguing  mitil  two  in  the  morning. 

The  next  day  I  went  to  Rotten  Row.  It  was  glorious  weath- 
er, and  all  Hyde  Park  seemed  to  be  strewn  with  enormous 
bou(iuets.  There  were  the  flower  b(>ds  wonderfully  arranged  by 
the  gardeners,  then  there  were  the  clusters  of  sunshades,  blue, 
pink,  red,  white,  or  yellow,  which  sheltered  the  light  hats  cov- 
ered with  flowers,  under  which  shone  the  pretty  facas  of  babies 
and  women.  Along  the  riding  path  there  was  an  exciting  gal- 
lop of  graceful  thoroughbreds  bearing  along  some  hundreds 
of  horsewomen,  slender,  supple,  and  courageous;  there  were 
men  and  children,  the  latter  mounted  on  big  Irish  ponies. 
There  were  other  children,  too,  galloping  along  on  Scotch  ponies 
with  long,  shaggy  manes,  and  the  children's  hair  and  the  manes 
of  the  horses  blew  about  with  the  wind  caused  by  the  ride. 

The  carriage  road  between  the  riding  track  and  the  foot 
passengers  was  filled  with  dogcarts,  open  carriages  of  various 
kinds,  mail  coaches,  and  very  smart  cabs.  There  w^re  pow- 
dered footmen,  horses  decorated  wnth  flowers,  sportsmen  driving, 
ladies,  too,  driving  admirable  horses.  All  this  elegance,  this 
essence  of  luxury  and  this  joy  of  life,  brought  back  to  my  mem- 
ory the  vision  of  our  Bois  de  Boulogne,  so  elegant  and  so  ani- 
mated a  few  years  before,  when  Napoleon  III  used  to  drive 
through  in  his  daumont,  nonchalant  and  smiling.  Ah,  how 
beautiful  it  was  in  those  days — our  Bois  de  Boulogne !  with  the 
officers  caracoling  in  the  Avenue  des  Acacias,  admired  by  our 
beautiful  society  women ! 

The  joy  of  life  was  everywhere — the  love  of  Love  envelop- 
ing life  with  an  infinite  charm.  I  closed  my  eyes,  and  I  felt 
a  pang  at  my  heart  as  the  awful  recollections  of  1870  crowded 
to  my  brain.  He  was  dead,  our  gentle  Emperor  with  his  shrewd 
smile.  Dead,  vanquished  by  the  sword,  betrayed  by  fortune, 
crushed  with  grief! 

The  thread  of  life  in  Paris  had  been  taken  up  again  in  all 
its  intenseness ;  but  the  life  of  elegance,  of  charm,  and  of  luxury 
was  still  shrouded  in  crape.  Scarcely  eight  years  had  passed 
since  the  war  had  struck  down  our  soldiers,  ruined  our  hopes, 

316 


MY    LONDON    DEBUT 

and  tarnished  our  glory.  Three  presidents  had  already  suc- 
ceeded each  other.  That  wretched  little  Thiers,  with  his  per- 
verse, bourgeois  soul,  had  worn  his  teeth  out  with  nibbling 
at  every  kind  of  government:  royalty  under  Louis  Philippe, 
empire  under  Napoleon  III,  and  the  executive  power  of  the 
French  Republic.  He  had  never  even  thought  of  lifting  our 
beloved  Paris  up  again,  bowed  down  as  she  was  under  the  weight 
of  so  many  ruins.  He  had  been  succeeded  by  INIacMahon,  a 
good,  brave  man,  but  a  cipher.  Grevy  had  succeeded  the  mar- 
shal, but  he  was  miserly  and  considered  all  outlay  unnecessary 
for  himself,  for  other  people,  and  for  the  country.  And  so 
Paris  remained  sad,  nursing  the  leprosy  that  the  Commune  had 
communicated  to  her  by  the  kiss  of  its  fires.  And  our  delight- 
ful Bois  de  Boulogne  still  bore  the  traces  of  the  injviries  that 
the  National  Defense  had  inflicted  on  her.  The  Avenue  des 
Acacias  was  deserted. 

I  opened  my  eyes  again.  They  were  filled  with  tears,  and 
through  their  mist  I  caught  a  glimpse  once  more  of  the  tri- 
umphant vitality  which  surrounded  me. 

I  wanted  to  return  home  at  once,  for  I  was  acting  that  night 
for  the  first  time,  and  I  felt  rather  wretched  and  despairing. 
There  were  several  persons  awaiting  me  at  my  house  in  Chester 
Square,  but  I  did  not  want  to  see  anyone.  I  took  a  cup  of  tea 
and  went  to  the  Gaiety  Theater,  where  we  were  to  face  the 
English  public  for  the  first  time.  I  knew  already  that  I  had 
been  elected  the  favorite,  and  the  idea  of  this  chilled  me  with 
terror,  for  I  am  what  is  known  as  a  traqueuse.  I  am  sub- 
ject to  the  trac  or  stage  fright,  and  I  have  it  terribly. 
When  I  first  appeared  on  the  stage  I  was  timid,  but  I  never  had 
this  trac.  I  used  to  turn  as  red  as  a  poppy  when  I  happened 
to  meet  the  eye  of  some  spectator.  I  was  ashamed  of  talking  so 
loud  before  so  many  silent  people.  That  was  the  effect  of  my 
cloistered  life,  but  I  found  no  feeling  of  fear.  The  first  time  I 
ever  had  the  real  sensation  of  trac  or  stage  fright,  was  in 
the  month  of  January,  1869,  at  the  seventh  or  perhaps  the 
eighth  performance  of  "  Le  Passant."  The  success  of  this  little 
masterpiece  had  been  enormous,  and  my  interpretation  of  the 

317 


mi:m()UIi:s  of  mv  life 

part  of  Zancllo  had  dcli^litcd  ilic  pul)li(!,  and  particularly  the 
.students.  When  I  went  on  the  stage  that  day  I  was  suddenly 
ai)plauded  by  the  whole  house.  I  turned  toward  the  Imperial 
box,  thinking,'  that  the  P^nipcror  had  just  entered.  But  no,  the 
box  was  eini)ty,  and  I  realized  then  that  all  the  bravos  were  for 
ine.  I  was  seized  with  a  fit  of  nervous  trembling,  and  my  eyes 
smarted  with  tears  that  I  had  to  keep  back.  Agar  and  I  were 
called  back  five  times  and,  on  leaving  the  theater,  the  students 
ranged  on  each  side  gave  me  three  cheers.  On  reaching  home 
I  Hung  myself  into  the  arms  of  my  blind  grandmother,  who  was 
then  living  with  me. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  you,  my  dear?  "  she  asked. 

"  It's  all  over  with  me,  grandmother,"  I  said,  "  they  want 
to  make  a  '  star  '  of  me,  and  I  haven't  talent  enough  for  that. 
You'll  see  they'll  drag  me  down  and  finish  me  off  with  all  their 
bravos, ' ' 

My  grandmother  took  my  head  in  her  hands  and  I  met  the 
vacant  look  in  her  large,  light  eyes  fixed  on  me,  "  You  told 
me,  my  child,  that  you  wanted  to  be  the  first  in  your  profession, 
and  w^hen  the  opportunity  comes  to  you,  why,  you  are  fright- 
ened.    It  seems  to  me  that  you  are  a  very  bad  soldier, ' ' 

I  drove  back  my  tears  and  declared  that  I  would  bear  up 
courageously  against  this  success  which  had  come  to  interfere 
with  my  tranquillity,  my  heedlessness  and  my  "  don't-careisni."' 
But,  from  that  time  forth,  fear  took  possession  of  me,  and  stage 
fright  martyrized  me. 

It  was  under  thase  conditions  that  I  prepared  for  the  second 
act  of  "  Phedre,"  in  which  I  was  to  appear  for  the  first  time 
before  the  English  public.  Three  times  over  I  put  rouge  on 
my  cheeks,  blackened  my  eyes,  and  three  times  over  I  took  it  all 
off  again  with  a  sponge.  I  thought  I  looked  ugly,  and  it  seemed 
to  me  I  was  thinner  than  ever  and  not  as  tall.  I  closed  my  eyes 
to  listen  to  my  voice.  My  special  pitch  is  le  hal,  which  I 
pronounced  low  down  with  the  open  a,  le  hdddl,  or  that 
I  take  high  by  dwelling  on  the  1 — le  halll.  Ah !  but  there 
was  no  doubt  about  it,  my  le  hal  neither  sounded  high  nor 
low,  my  voice  was  hoarse  in  the  low  notes  and  not  clear  in  the 

318 


MY    LONDON    DEBUT 

soprano.     I  cried  with  rage,  and  just  then  I  was  informed  that 
the  second   act  of  "  Phedre  "   was   about  to  commence.     This 
drove  me  wikl.     I  had  not  my  veil  on,  nor  my  rings,  and  my 
cameo  belt  was  not  fastened. 
I  began  to  murmur : 

"  Le  voici !     Vers  mon  coeur  tout  mon  sang  se  retire. 
J'oublie  en  le  voyant  ..." 

That  word  j'oublie  struck  me  with  a  new  idea.  What  if  I 
did  forget  the  words  I  had  to  say?  Why,  yes  .  .  .  What 
was  it  I  had  to  say  1  I  did  not  know  ...  I  could  not  remember. 
.  .  .  What  v/as  I  to  say  after  en  le  voyant  .  .  ,   ? 

No  one  answered  me.  Everyone  was  alarmed  at  my  nervous 
state.  I  heard  Got  mumble,  "  She's  going  mad!"  Mile.  The- 
nard,  who  was  playing  (Enone,  my  old  nurse,  said  to  me : 
"Calm  yourself,  all  the  English  have  gone  to  Paris,  there's  no 
one  in  the  house  but  Belgians." 

This  foolishly  comic  speech  turned  my  thoughts  in  another 
direction.  "  How  stupid  you  are!  "  I  said.  "  You  know  how 
frightened  I  was  at  Brussels!  " 

' '  Oh,  all  for  nothing !  ' '  she  answered  calmly.  ' '  There  were 
only  English  people  in  the  theater  that  day. ' ' 

I  had  to  go  on  the  stage  at  once,  and  I  could  not  even  answer 
her,  but  she  had  changed  the  current  of  my  ideas.  I  still  had 
stage  fright,  but  not  the  fright  that  paralyzes,  only  the  kind  that 
drives  one  wild.  This  is  bad  enough,  but  it  is  preferable  to  the 
other  sort.  It  makes  one  do  too  much,  but  at  any  rate,  one  does 
something. 

The  whole  house  had  applauded  my  arrival  on  the  stage  for 
a  few  seconds,  and  as  I  bent  my  head  in  acknowledgment,  I 
said  within  myself:  "  Yes  .  .  .  yes  .  .  .  you  shall  see.  I'm  go- 
ing to  give  you  my  very  blood  .  .  .  my  life  itself  .  .  .  my 
soul  .  .  ." 

When  I  began  my  part,  as  I  had  lost  my  self-possession,  I 
started  on  rather  too  high  a  note,  and  when  once  in  full  swing  I 
could  not  get  lower  again,  I  simply  could  not  stop.     I  suffered, 

319 


MEMOKIES    OF    MV    LIFE 

T  wept,  T  implored,  T  cried  out,  and  it  was  all  real,  ^fy  suffer- 
inj;  was  horrible,  my  tears  were  flowing — scorching  and  bitter. 
I  implored  Ilippolyte  for  the  love  which  was  killing  me,  and  my 
arms  stretched  out  to  Mouuet-Sully  were  the  arms  of  Fhedre 
wi'ithing  in  the  cruel  longing  for  his  embrace.  .  .  .  God  was 
within  me 

When  the  curtain  fell,  ^lounct-Sully  lifted  me  up  inanimate 
and  carried  me  to  my  dressing-room. 

The  public,  unaware  of  what  was  happening,  wanted  me  to 
appear  again  and  bow.  I,  too,  wanted  to  return  and  thank  the 
public  for  its  attention,  its  kindliness,  and  its  emotion. 

I  went  back,  and  the  following  is  what  John  Murray  said  in 
the  Gaulois  of  June  5,  1879 : 

"  When  recalled  with  loud  cries,  INIlle.  Bernhardt  appeared, 
exhausted  by  her  efforts  and  supported  by  Mounet-Sully ;  she 
received  an  ovation  which  I  think  is  unique  in  the  annals  of  the 
theater  in  England." 

The  following  morning  the  Daily  Telegraph  terminated  its 
admirable  criticism  with  these  lines : 

"  Clearly  IMlle.  Sarah  Bernhardt  exerted  every  nerve  and 
fiber  and  her  passion  grew  with  the  excitement  of  the  spectators, 
for  when  after  a  recall  that  could  not  be  resisted  the  curtain 
drew  up,  ]\Ir.  ]\Iounet-Sully  was  seen  supporting  the  exhausted 
figure  of  the  actress,  who  had  won  her  triumph  only  after  tre- 
mendous physical  exertion,  and  triumph  it  was,  however  short 
and  sudden." 

The  Standard  finished  its  article  with  these  words : 

"  The  subdued  passion,  repressed  for  a  time,  until  at  length 
it  burst  its  bonds,  and  the  despairing,  heartbroken  woman  is  re- 
vealed to  Hippolyte,  was  shown  wdth  so  vivid  a  reality  that  a 
scene  of  enthusiasm  such  as  is  rarely  witnessed  in  a  theater  fol- 
lowed the  fall  of  the  curtain.  Mile.  Sarah  Bernhardt,  in  the 
few  minutes  she  was  upon  the  stage  (and  coming  on  it  must  be 
remembered  to  plimge  into  the  middle  of  a  stirring  tragedy)  yet 

320 


MY    LONDON    DEBUT 

contrived  to  make  an  impression  which  will  not  soon  be  effaced 
from  those  who  were  present." 

The  Morning  Post  said : 

"  Very  brief  are  the  words  spoken  before  Phedre  rushes  into 
the  room  to  commence  tremblingly  and  nervously,  with  struggles 
which  rend  and  tear  and  convulse  the  system,  the  secret  of  her 
shameful  love.  As  her  passion  mastered  what  remained  of 
modesty  or  reserve  in  her  nature,  the  woman  sprang  forward 
and  recoiled  again,  with  the  movements  of  a  panther,  striving, 
as  it  seemed,  to  tear  from  her  bosom  the  heart  which  stifled  her 
with  its  unholy  longings,  until  in  the  end,  when,  terrified  at  the 
horror  her  breathings  have  provoked  in  Hippolyte,  she  strove 
to  pull  his  sword  from  its  sheath  and  plunge  it  in  her  own  breast, 
she  fell  back  in  complete  and  absolute  collapse.  This  exhibition, 
marvelous  in  beauty  of  pose,  in  febrile  force,  in  intensity,  and 
in  purity  of  delivery,  is  the  more  remarkable  as  the  passion  had 
to  be  reached,  so  to  speak,  at  a  bound,  no  performance  of  the 
first  act  having  roused  the  actress  to  the  requisite  heat.  It 
proved  Mile.  Sarah  Bernhardt  worthy  of  her  reputation,  and 
shows  what  may  be  expected  from  her  by  the  public  which  has 
eagerly  expected  her  coming." 

This  London  first  night  was  definitive  for  my  future. 


22  321 


CHAPTER    XXII 


MY   STAY    IN   ENGLAND 


''^i^,^l?lY  intense  desire  to  win  over  the  English  public  had 
(;.;^^^|^  caused  me  to  overtax  my  strength.  I  had  done  my 
^j" ''?i^ff)jK  utmost  at  the  first  performance  and  had  not  spared 
•^""■-^^^^  myself  in  the  least.  The  consequence  was  that  in 
the  night  I  vomited  blood  in  such  an  alarming  way  that  a  mes- 
senger was  despatched  to  the  French  Embassy  in  search  of  a 
physician.  Dr.  Vintras,  who  was  at  the  head  of  the  French 
Hospital  in  London,  found  me  lying  on  my  bed,  exhausted  and 
looking  more  dead  than  alive.  He  was  afraid  that  I  should  not 
recover  and  requested  that  my  family  be  sent  for.  I  made  a 
gesture  with  my  hand  to  the  effect  that  it  was  not  necessary. 
As  I  could  not  speak,  I  wrote  down  with  a  pencil:  "Send  for 
Dr.  Parrot." 

Dr.  Vintras  remained  with  me  part  of  the  night,  putting 
crushed  ice  between  my  lips  every  five  minutes.  At  length 
toward  five  in  the  morning  the  blood  vomiting  ceased,  and 
thanks  to  a  potion  that  the  doctor  gave  me,  I  fell  asleep. 

We  were  to  play  "  L'Etrangere  "  that  night  at  the  Gaiety 
and,  as  my  role  was  not  a  very  fatiguing  one,  I  wanted  to  per- 
form my  part  quand-mcme. 

Dr.  Parrot  arrived  by  the  four  o'clock  boat  and  refused 
categorically  to  give  his  consent.  He  had  attended  me  from 
my  childhood.  I  really  felt  much  better,  and  the  feverishness 
had  left  me.  I  wanted  to  get  up,  but  to  this  Dr.  Parrot 
objected. 

Presently,  Dr.  Vintras  and  ]\Ir.  ]\Iayer,  the  impresario  of  the 

322 


MY    STAY    IN     ENGLAND 

Coniedie  Francaise,  were  announced.  Mr.  Hollingsliead,  the 
director  of  the  Gaiety  Theater,  was  waiting  in  a  carriage  at  the 
door  to  know  whether  I  was  going  to  play  in  "  L 'Etrangere, " 
the  piece  announced  on  the  bills.  I  asked  Dr.  Parrot  to  rejoin 
Dr.  Vintras  in  the  drawing-room  and  I  gave  instructions  for  Mr. 
Mayer  to  be  introduced  into  my  room, 

"  I  feel  much  better,"  I  said  to  him,  very  quickly.  "  I'm 
very  weak  still,  but  I  will  play.  Ssh !  .  ,  .  don 't  say  a  word 
her.  Tell  Hollingshead  and  wait  for  me  in  the  smoking  room, 
but  don't  let  anyone  else  know." 

I  then  got  up  and  dressed  very  quickly.  My  maid  helped 
me  and,  as  she  had  guessed  what  my  plan  was,  she  was  highly 
amused. 

Wrapped  in  my  cloak,  with  a  lace  fichu  over  my  head,  I 
joined  Mayer  in  the  smoking  room  and  then  we  both  got  into  his 
hansom. 

"  Come  to  me  in  an  hour's  time,"  I  said  in  a  low  voice  to 
my  maid. 

"  Where  are  you  going?  "  asked  Mayer,  perfectly  stupefied. 

"  To  the  theater  .  ,  ,  quick  .  .  .  quick  ...    !  "  I  answered. 

The  cab  started  and  I  then  explained  to  him  that  if  I  had 
stayed  at  home,  neither  Dr.  Parrot  nor  Dr.  Vintras  would  have 
let  me  act  upon  any  account. 

"  The  die  is  cast  now,"  I  added,  "  and  we  shall  see  what 
happens. ' ' 

When  once  I  was  at  the  theater  I  took  refuge  in  the 
manager's  private  office,  in  order  to  avoid  Dr.  Parrot's  anger. 
I  was  very  fond  of  him  and  I  knew  how  wrongly  I  was  acting 
toward  him,  considering  the  inconvenience  to  which  he  had  put 
himself  in  making  the  journey  specially  for  me  in  response  to 
my  summons.  I  knew,  though,  how  impossible  it  would  have 
been  to  have  made  him  understand  that  I  felt  really  better,  and 
that  in  risking  my  life  I  was  really  only  risking  what  was  my 
own  to  dispose  of  as  I  pleased. 

Half  an  hour  later  my  maid  joined  me.  She  brought  with 
her  a  letter  from  Dr.  Parrot,  full  of  gentle  reproaches  and 
furious  advice,  finishing  with  a  prescription,  in  case  of  a  re- 

323 


MEMORIES    OF    MY    LIFE 

lapse.  He  was  leaviiif,'  an  hour  later  and  would  not  even  come 
and  shake  hands  with  me.  I  felt  quite  sure,  though,  that  we 
sliould  make  it  all  up  apain  on  my  return.  I  then  be^ran  to  pre- 
pare for  my  role  in  "  L'Etran^ere. "  While  dressing,  I  fainted 
three  times,  ])ut  1  was  determined  to  play  quand-meme. 

The  opium  that  1  had  taken  in  my  potion  made  my  head 
rather  heavy.  I  arrived  on  the  stage  in  a  semiconscious  state, 
delighted  with  the  applause  I  received.  I  walked  along  as 
though  I  were  in  a  dream  and  could  scarcely  distinguish  my 
surroundings.  The  house  itself  I  saw  only  through  a  luminous 
mist.  My  feet  glided  along  on  the  carpet  without  any  effort, 
and  my  voice  sounded  to  me  far  away,  very  far  away.  I  was  in 
that  delicious  stupor  that  one  experiences  after  chloroform,  mor- 
phine, opium,  or  hasheesh. 

The  first  act  went  off  very  well,  but  in  the  third  act,  just 
when  I  was  to  tell  the  Duchess  de  Septmonts  (Croizette) 
all  the  troubles  that  I,  Mrs.  Clarkson,  had  gone  through  during 
my  life,  just  as  I  should  have  commenced  my  interminable  story 
I  could  not  remember  anything.  Croizette  murmured  my  first 
phrase  for  me,  but  I  could  only  see  her  lips  move  without  hear- 
ing a  word.     I  then  said  quite  calmly : 

**  The  reason  I  sent  for  you  here,  madame,  is  because  I 
wanted  to  tell  you  my  reasons  for  acting  as  I  have  done,  but  I 
have  thought  it  over  and  have  decided  not  to  tell  you  them 
to-day. ' ' 

Sophie  Croizette  gazed  at  me  with  a  terrified  look  in  her 
eyes,  she  then  rose  and  left  the  stage,  her  lips  trembling,  and  her 
eyes  fixed  on  me  all  the  time. 

*'  What's  the  matter?  "  everyone  asked  when  she  sank  al- 
most breathless  into  an  armchair. 

"  Sarah  has  gone  mad!  "  she  exclaimed.  "  I  assure  you  she 
has  gone  quite  mad.  She  has  cut  out  the  whole  of  her  scene 
with  me." 

"  But  how?  "  everyone  asked. 

**  She  has  cut  out  two  hundred  lines,"  said  Croizette. 

"  But  what  for?  "  was  the  eager  question. 

**  I  don't  know.     She  looks  quite  calm." 

324 


MY    STAY    IN     ENGLAND 

The  whole  of  this  conversation  which  was  repeated  to  me 
later  on  took  much  less  time  than  it  does  now  to  write  it  down. 
Coquelin  had  been  told  and  he  now  came  on  to  the  stage  to 
finish  the  act.  The  curtain  fell.  I  was  stupefied  and  desperate 
afterwards  on  hearing  all  that  people  told  me.  I  had  not 
noticed  that  anything  was  wrong,  and  it  seemed  to  me  that  I 
had  played  the  whole  of  my  part  as  usual,  but  I  was  really 
under  the  influence  of  the  opium.  There  was  very  little  for 
me  to  say  in  the  fifth  act,  and  I  went  through  that  perfectly  well. 
The  following  day  the  accounts  in  the  papers  sounded  the 
praises  of  our  company  but  the  piece  itself  was  criticised.  I 
was  afraid  at  first  that  my  involuntary  omission  of  the  im- 
portant part  in  the  third  act  was  one  of  the  causes  of  the 
severity  of  the  press.  This  was  not  so,  though,  as  all  the  critics 
had  read  and  re-read  the  piece.  They  discussed  the  play  itself, 
and  did  not  mention  my  slip  of  memory. 

The  Figaro,  which  was  in  a  very  bad  humor  with  me  just 
then,  had  an  article  from  which  I  quote  the  following  extract: 

"  '  L'Etrangere  '  is  not  a  piece  in  accordance  with  the  Eng- 
lish taste.  Mile.  Croizette,  however,  was  applauded  enthusi- 
astically and  so  were  Coquelin  and  Febvre.  Mile.  Sarah  Bern- 
hardt, nervous  as  usual,  lost  her  memory." 

He  knew  perfectly  well,  worthy  Mr.  erohnson,^  that  I  was 
very  ill.  He  had  been  to  my  house  and  seen  Dr.  Parrot,  con- 
sequently he  was  aware  that  I  was  acting  in  spite  of  the  faculty 
in  the  interests  of  the  Comedie  Francaise.  The  English  public 
had  given  me  such  proofs  of  appreciation  that  the  Comedie  was 
rather  atlfected  by  it,  and  the  Figaro,  which  was  at  that  time  the 
organ  of  the  Theatre  Francaise,  requested  Johnson  to  modify 
his  praises  of  me.  This  he  did  the  whole  time  that  we  were  in 
London. 

My  reason  for  telling  about  my  loss  of  memory,  which  was 
quite  an  unimportant  incident  in  itself,  is  merely  to  prove  to 
authors  how  unnecessary  it  is  to  take  the  trouble  of  explaining 

iT.  Johnson,  London  correspondent  of  Le  Figaro. 
325 


MEiMOIUES    OF    M\    LIFE 

the  charactors  of  their  (•i-ciilions.  A1(x;uhI)-c  Dimias  was  cer- 
liiiiily  anxious  lo  i^wo  us  llic  ri'asoiis  wliich  caiiscd  Mrs.  Chtrkson 
to  act  as  slrant^cly  as  she  did.  He  had  created  a  person  who  was 
extremely  interestinfjc  and  lull  of  action  as  the  play  proceeds. 
She  i-cveals  herself  to  the  public,  in  the  first  act,  by  the  lines 
which  Mrs.  Clarkson  says  to  Mmc.  dc  ticptmonts.  "  I  should  be 
very  glad,  madame,  if  you  would  call  on  me.  We  could  talk 
al)out  one  of  your  friends,  M.  fJerard,  whom  I  love  perhaps,  as 
much  as  you  do,  although  he  does  not  perhaps  care  for  me  as 
he  does  for  you. ' ' 

That  was  quite  enough  to  interest  the  public  in  these  two 
women.  It  was  the  eternal  struggle  of  good  and  evil,  the  combat 
between  Vice  and  Virtue.  But  it  evidently  seemed  rather  com- 
monplace to  Dumas,  ancient  history,  in  fact,  and  he  wanted  to 
rejuvenate  the  old  theme  by  trying  to  arrange  for  an  orchestra 
with  organ  and  banjo.  The  result  he  obtained  was  a  fearful 
cacophony,  lie  wrote  a  foolish  piece,  which  might  have  been  a 
beautiful  one.  The  originality  of  his  style,  the  loyalty  of  his 
ideas,  and  the  brutality  of  his  humor  sufficed  for  rejuvenating 
old  ideas,  which,  in  reality,  are  the  eternal  basis  of  all  tragedies, 
comedies,  novels,  pictures,  poems,  and  pamphlets.  It  was  Love 
between  Vice  and  Virtue.  Among  the  spectators  who  saw  the 
first  performance  of  "  L'Etrangere  "  in  London,  and  there 
were  quite  as  many  French  as  English  present,  not  one  remarked 
that  there  was  something  w'anting,  and  not  one  of  them  said 
that  he  had  not  understood  the  character. 

I  talked  about  it  to  a  very  learned  Frenchman. 

''  Did  you  notice  the  gap  in  the  third  act?  "  I  asked  him. 

'*  No,"  he  replied. 

"  In  my  big  scene  with  Croizette?  " 

"  No." 

''  Well  then,  read  w^hat  I  left  out,"  I  insisted. 

When  he  had  read  this  he  exclaimed :  "So  much  the  better. 
It's  very  dull,  all  that  story,  and  quite  useless.  I  undei-stand 
the  character  without  all  that  rigmarole  and  that  romantic 
history." 

Later  on,  when  I  apologized  to  Dumas  fils  for  the  way  in 

326 


MY    STAY    IN     ENGLAND 

which  I  had  cut  down  his  play,  he  answered:  "  Oh,  my  dear 
child,  when  I  write  a  play  I  think  it  is  good,  when  I  see  it  played 
I  think  it  is  stupid,  and  when  any  anyone  tells  it  to  nie,  I  think 
it  is  perfect,  as  the  person  always  forgets  half  of  it. ' ' 

The  performances  given  by  the  Comedie  Francaise  drew  a 
crowd  nightly  to  the  Gaiety  Theater,  and  I  remained  the 
favorite.  I  mention  this  now  with  pride,  but  without  any 
vanity.  I  was  very  happy  and  very  grateful  for  my  success, 
but  my  comrades  had  a  grudge  against  me  on  account  of  it,  and 
hostilities  began  in  an  underhand,  treacherous  way. 

Mr.  Jarrett,  my  adviser  and  agent,  had  assured  me  that  I 
should  be  able  to  sell  a  few  of  my  works,  either  my  sculpture  or 
paintings.  I  had,  therefore,  taken  with  me  six  pieces  of 
sculpture  and  ten  pictures,  and  I  had  an  exhibition  of  them  in 
Piccadilly.     I  sent  out  invitations,  about  a  hundred  in  all. 

His  Royal  Highness,  the  Prince  of  Wales,  let  me  know  that 
he  would  come  with  the  Princess  of  Wales.  The  English  ar- 
istocracy and  the  celebrities  of  London  came  to  the  inaugura- 
tion. I  had  sent  out  only  a  hundred  invitations,  but  twelve 
hundred  people  arrived,  and  were  introduced  to  me.  I  was 
delighted  and  enjoyed  it  all  immensely. 

Mr.  Gladstone  did  me  the  great  honor  of  talking  to  me  for 
about  ten  minutes.  With  his  genial  mind  he  spoke  of  every- 
thing in  a  singularly  gracious  way.  He  asked  me  what  im- 
pression the  attacks  of  certain  clergymen  on  the  Comedie  Fran- 
caise and  the  damnable  profession  of  dramatic  artistes,  had 
made  on  me.  I  answered  that  I  considered  our  art  quite  as 
profitable,  morally,  as  the  sermons  of  Catholic  and  Protestant 
preachers. 

"  But  will  you  tell  me,  mademoiselle,"  he  insisted,  "  what 
moral  lesson  you  can  draw  from  '  Phedre  '  ?  " 

' '  Oh,  Mr.  Gladstone, ' '  I  replied,  ' '  you  surprise  me ! 
'  Phedre  '  is  an  ancient  tragedy ;  the  morality  and  customs  of 
those  times  belong  to  a  perspective  quite  different  from  ours, 
and  different  from  the  morality  of  our  present  society.  And 
yet  in  that  there  is  the  punishment  of  the  old  nurse  (Enone,  who 
commits  the  atrocious  crime  of  accusing  an  innocent  person. 

327 


mi:m()RIi:s  of  mv   life 

The  love  of  PJicdre  is  excusable  on  aceount  of  the  fatality  which 
hanps  over  her  family,  and  descends  pitilessly  upon  her.  In  our 
t lilies  wo  should  call  that  fatality  atavism,  for  Phedre  was  the 
daughter  of  Minos  and  Pasiphce..  As  to  Theseus^  his  verdict, 
a<;ainst  which  there  could  be  no  appeal,  was  an  arbitrary  and 
monstrous  act,  and  was  punished  by  the  death  of  that  beloved 
son  of  his  who  was  the  sole  and  last  hope  of  his  life.  We  ought 
never  to  cause  what  is  irreparable." 

*'  Ah!  "  said  the  Grand  Old  Man,  "  you  are  against  capital 
punishment?  " 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Gladstone." 

**  And  quite  right,  mademoiselle." 

Frederic  Leighton  then  joined  us  and  with  great  kindness 
complimented  me  on  one  of  my  pictures,  reprasenting  a  young 
girl  holding  some  palms.  This  picture  was  bought  by  Prince 
Leopold. 

My  little  exhibition  was  a  great  success,  but  I  never  thought 
that  it  was  to  be  the  cause  of  so  much  gossip  and  of  so  many 
cowardly  side  thrusts,  until  finally  it  led  to  my  rupture  with 
the  Comedie  Francaise. 

I  had  no  pretensions  either  as  a  painter  or  a  sculptor,  and 
I  exhibited  my  works  for  the  sake  of  selling  them,  as  I  wanted  to 
buy  two  little  lions  and  had  not  money  enough.  I  sold  the 
pictures  for  what  they  were  worth,  that  is  to  say,  at  very  modest 
prices. 

Lady  H bought  my  group  ' '  After  the  Storm. ' '     It  was 

smaller  than  the  large  group  I  had  exhibited  two  years  pre- 
viously at  the  Paris  Salon,  and  for  which  I  had  received  a  prize. 
The  smaller  group  was  in  marble,  and  I  had  worked  at  it  with 

the  greatest  care.     I  wanted  to  sell  it  for  £160,  but  Lady  H 

sent  me  £400  together  with  a  charming  note,  which  I  venture 
to  quote.     It  ran  as  follows: 

Do  me  the  favour,  Madame,  of  accepting  the  enclosed  £400  for  your 
admirable  group  "After  the  Storm."  Will  you  also  do  me  the  honour  of 
coming  to  lunch  with  me  and  afterwards  you  shall  choose  for  yourself  the 
place  where  your  piece  of  sculpture  v/ill  have  the  best  light. 

Ethel  H . 

328 


MY    STAY    IN     ENGLAND 

This  was  Tuesday  and  I  was  playing  in  ''  Zaire  "  that  eve- 
ning, but  Wednesday,  Thursday,  and  Friday  I  was  not  acting. 
I  had  money  enough  now  to  buy  my  lions,  so  without  saying  a 
word  at  the  theater,  I  started  for  Liverpool.  I  knew  there  was 
a  big  menagerie  there.  Cross's  Zoo,  and  that  I  should  find  some 
lions  for  sale. 

The  journey  was  most  amusing,  as  although  I  was  traveling 
incognito,  I  was  recognized  all  along  the  route  and  was  made  a 
great  deal  of. 

Three  gentlemen  friends  and  Hortense  Damain  were  with 
me,  and  it  was  a  very  lively  little  trip.  I  know  that  I  wa.s  not 
shirking  my  duties  at  the  Comedie,  as  I  w^as  not  to  play  again 
before  Saturday,  and  this  was  only  Wednesday. 

We  started  in  the  morning  at  10.30  a.m.  and  arrived  in  Liver- 
pool about  2.30.  We  went  at  once  to  Cross's,  but  could  not 
find  the  entrance  to  the  house.  We  asked  a  shopkeeper  at  the 
corner  of  the  street,  and  he  pointed  to  a  little  door  which  we  had 
already  opened  and  closed  twice,  as  we  could  not  believe  that 
was  the  entrance. 

I  had  seen  a  large  iron  gateway  with  a  wide  courtyard  be- 
yond, and  we  were  in  front  of  a  little  door  leading  into  quite  a 
small,  bare-looking  room,  where  we  found  a  little  man. 

"  Mr.  Cross?  "  we  said. 

**  That's  my  name,"  he  replied. 

* '  I  want  to  buy  some  lions, ' '  I  then  said. 

He  began  to  laugh,  and  he  asked, 

"  Do  you  really,  mademoiselle?  Are  you  so  fond  of 
animals?  I  went  to  London  last  week  to  see  the  Comedie  Fran- 
^aise,  and  I  saw  you  in  '  Hernani  ',  .  ." 

"  It  wasn't  from  that  you  discovered  that  I  liked  animals?  " 
I  said  to  him. 

"  No,  it  was  a  man  who  sells  dogs  in  St.  Andrew's  Street 
who  told  me;  he  said  you  had  bought  two  dogs  from  him  and 
that  if  it  had  not  been  for  the  gentleman  who  was  with  you, 
you  would  have  bought  five." 

He  told  me  all  this  in  very  bad  French,  but  with  a  great  deal 
of  humor. 

329 


MEMORIES    OF    MV    T.IFE 

"  Well,  Mr.  Cross,"  I  said,  "  I  want  two  lions  to-day." 

"  ril  show  you  what  I  have,"  he  replied,  leading  the  way 
into  tht>  courtyard  where  the  wild  beasts  were.  Oh,  what 
magnificent  creatures  they  were!  There  were  two  superb 
African  lions  with  shining  coats  and  powerful-looking  tails 
which  were  beating  the  air.  They  had  only  just  arrived  and 
they  were  in  perfect  health,  with  plenty  of  courage  for  rebellion. 
They  knew  nothing  of  the  resignation  which  is  the  dominating 
stignui  of  civilized  beings. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Cross,"  I  said,  "  these  are  too  big,  I  want  some 
young  lions." 

"  I  haven't  any,  mademoiselle." 

"  Well,  then,  show  me  all  your  animals." 

I  saw  the  tigers,  the  leopards,  the  jackals,  the  chetahs,  and  the 
pumas,  and  I  stopped  in  front  of  the  elephants.  I  simply  adore 
them,  and  I  should  have  liked  to  have  a  dwarf  elephant.  That 
has  always  been  one  of  my  dreams,  and  perhaps  some  day  I 
shall  be  able  to  realize  it. 

Cross  had  not  any,  though,  so  I  bought  a  elietah.  It  was 
((uite  young  and  very  droll;  it  looked  like  a  gargoyle  on  some 
castle  of  the  ]\Iiddle  Ages.  I  also  bought  a  dog  wolf,  all  Avhite 
with  a  thick  coat,  fiery  eyes,  and  spearlike  teeth.  lie  was  ter- 
rifying to  look  at.  ]\Ir.  Cross  made  me  a  present  of  six  chame- 
leons which  belonged  to  a  small  race  and  looked  like  lizards.  He 
also  gave  me  an  admirable  chameleon,  a  prehistoric,  fabulous 
sort  of  animal.  It  was  a  veritable  Chinese  curiosity  and 
changed  color  from  pale  green  to  dark  bronze,  at  one  minute 
slender  and  long  like  a  lily  leaf,  and  then  all  at  once  puffed  out 
and  thick-set  like  a  toad.  Its  lorgnette  eyes,  like  those  of  a 
lobster,  were  quite  independent  of  each  other.  "With  its  right 
eye  it  would  look  ahead,  and  with  its  left  eye  it  looked  back- 
ward. I  Avas  delighted  and  quite  enthusiastic  over  this  present. 
I  named  my  chameleon  "  Cross-ci  Cross-ca,"  in  honor  of  Mr. 
Cross. 

"We  returned  to  London  with  the  chetah  in  a  cage,  the  dog 
wolf  in  a  leash,  my  six  little  chameleons  in  a  box,  and  "  Cross-ci 
Cross-ga  "  on  my  shoulder,  fastened  to  a  gold  chain  we  had 

330 


MY    STAY    IN     ENGLAND 

bought  at  a  jeweler's.  I  had  not  found  any  lions  but  I  was  de- 
lighted all  the  same.  My  domestics  were  not  as  pleased  as  I 
was.  There  were  already  three  dogs  in  the  house :  Minniccio 
who  had  accompanied  me  from  Paris,  Bull  and  Fly,  bought  in 
London.  Then  there  was  my  parrot,  Bizibouzon,  and  my 
monkey,  Darwin. 

Mme.  Guerard  screamed  when  she  saw  these  new  guests  ar- 
rive. My  butler  hesitated  to  approach  the  dog  wolf,  and  it 
was  all  in  vain  that  I  assured  them  that  my  chetah  was  not 
dangerous.  No  one  would  open  the  cage,  and  it  was  carried 
out  into  the  garden.  I  asked  for  a  hammer  in  order  to  open  the 
door  of  the  cage  that  had  been  nailed  down,  thus  keeping  the 
poor  chetah  a  prisoner.  When  my  domestics  heard  me  ask  for 
the  hammer,  they  decided  to  open  it  themselves.  Mme.  Gue- 
rard and  the  women  servants  watched  from  the  windows.  Pres- 
ently the  door  burst  open,  and  the  chetah,  beside  himself  with 
joy,  sprang  like  a  tiger  out  of  his  cage,  wild  with  liberty.  He 
rushed  at  the  trees,  made  straight  for  the  dogs,  who  all  four 
began  to  howl  with  terror.  The  parrot  was  excited,  and  uttered 
shrill  cries  and  the  monkey,  shaking  his  cage  about,  gnashed  his 
teeth  to  distraction.  This  concert  in  the  silent  square  made  the 
most  prodigious  effect.  All  the  windows  were  opened  and  more 
than  twenty  faces  appeared  above  my  garden  wall,  all  of  them 
inquisitive,  alarmed,  or  furious.  I  was  seized  with  a  fit  of  un- 
controllable laughter,  and  my  friend  Louise  Abbema;  Nittis,  the 
painter,  who  had  come  to  call  on  me,  was  in  the  same  state,  and 
Gustave  Dore,  who  had  been  waiting  for  me  ever  since  two 
o'clock.  Georges  Deschamp,  an  amateur  musician,  with  a  great 
deal  of  talent,  tried  to  note  down  this  Hofmanesque  harmony, 
while  my  friend,  Georges  Clairin,  his  back  shaking  with  laugh- 
ter, sketched  the  never-to-be-forgotten  scene. 

The  next  day  in  London  the  chief  topic  of  conversation  was 
the  Bedlam  that  had  been  let  loose  at  77,  Chester  Square.  So 
much  was  made  of  it  that  our  dean,  M.  Got,  came  to  beg  me  not 
to  make  such  a  scandal,  as  it  reflected  on  the  Comedie  Francaise. 
I  listened  to  him  in  silence  and  when  he  had  finished  I  took  his 
hands. 

331 


MEMORIES    OF    MY     \AVK 

"  Clonic  willi  Jill!  ;iii(l  I  will  show  yoii  tlio  scandal,*'  I  said. 
I  coiidiicli'd  him  into  the  jiardcii. 

"  Jjct  1h(*  c'hctah  out!  "  I  said,  standing  on  the  steps  like;  a 
captain  ordering  his  men  to  take  in  a  reef. 

Wh(!n  the  elietah  was  free  the  same  mad  scene  occurred  again 
as  on  the  previous  day. 

"  You  see,  M.  le  Doyen,"  I  said,  "  this  is  my  Bedlam." 

"  You  are  mad,"  he  said,  kissing  me,  **  but  it  certainly  is 
irresistibly  comic,"  and  he  laughed  until  the  tears  came  when 
he  saw  all  the  heads  appearing  above  the  garden  wall. 

The  hostilities  continued,  though  by  means  of  scraps  of 
gossip  retailed  by  one  person  to  another  and  from  one  set  to 
another.  The  French  Press  took  it  up  and  so  did  the  English 
Press.  In  spite  of  my  happy  disposition  and  my  contempt  for 
ill-natured  tales,  I  began  to  feel  irritated.  Injustice  has  always 
roused  me  to  revolt,  and  injustice  was  certainly  having  its  fling. 
I  could  not  do  a  thing  that  was  not  watched  and  blamed. 

One  day  I  was  complaining  of  this  to  Madeleine  Brohan, 
whom  I  loved  dearly.  That  adorable  artiste  took  my  face  in 
her  hands,  and  looking  into  my  eyes,  said:  *'  My  poor  dear, 
you  can't  do  anything  to  prevent  it.  You  are  original  with- 
out trying  to  be  so.  You  have  a  dreadful  head  of  hair  that  is 
naturally  curly  and  rebellious,  your  slenderness  is  exaggerated, 
you  have  a  natural  harp  in  your  throat,  and  all  this  makes  of 
you  a  creature  apart,  which  is  a  crime  of  high  treason  against 
all  that  is  commonplace.  That  is  w^hat  is  the  matter  with  you 
physically.  Now  for  your  moral  defects.  You  cannot  hide 
your  thoughts,  you  cannot  stoop  to  anything,  you  never  accept 
any  compromise,  you  will  not  lend  yourself  to  any  hypocrisy, 
and  all  that  is  a  crime  of  high  treason  against  society.  How 
can  you  expect  under  these  conditions  not  to  arouse  jealousy, 
not  to  wound  people's  susceptibilities,  and  not  to  make  them 
spiteful?  If  you  are  discouraged  because  of  these  attacks,  it 
will  be  all  over  with  you,  as  you  wall  have  no  strength  left  to 
withstand  them.  In  that  ease  I  advise  you  to  brush  your  hair, 
to  put  oil  on  it,  and  so  make  it  lie  as  sleek  as  that  of  the  famous 
Corsican,   but  even  that  would  never  do.   for   Napoleon  had 

332 


SARAH  BERNHARDT,  FROM  AN  OIL   PAINTING   BY  MLLE.  LOUISE 

ABBEMA. 


MY    STAY    IN     ENGLAND 

such  sleek  hair  that  it  was  quite  original.  Well,  you  might  try- 
to  brush  your  hair  as  smooth  as  Prudhon  's  ^  then  there  would  be 
no  risk  for  you.  I  would  advise  you,"  she  continued,  "  to 
get  a  little  stouter  and  to  let  your  voice  break  occasionally,  then 
you  would  not  annoy  anyone.  But  if  you  wish  to  remain 
yourself,  my  dear,  prepare  to  mount  on  a  little  pedestal  made 
of  calumny,  scandal,  injustice,  adulation,  flattery,  lies,  and 
truths.  When  you  are  once  upon  it,  though,  do  the  right  thing, 
and  cement  it  by  your  talent,  your  w^ork,  and  your  kindness. 
All  the  spiteful  people  who  have  unintentionally  provided  the 
first  materials  for  the  edifice  will  kick  it,  then,  in  hopes  of 
destroying  it.  They  will  be  powerless  to  do  this,  though,  if  you 
choose  to  prevent  them;  and  that  is  just  what  I  hope  for  you, 
my  dear  Sarah,  as  you  have  an  ambitious  thirst  for  glory.  I 
cannot  understand  that,  myself,  as  I  like  only  rest  and  shade." 

I  looked  at  her  with  envy,  she  was  so  beautiful  with  her 
liquid  eyes,  her  face  with  its  pure,  restful  lines  and  her  weary 
smile.  I  wondered  in  an  uneasy  way  if  happiness  were  not 
rather  in  this  calm  tranquillity,  in  the  disdain  of  all  things.  I 
asked  her  gently  if  this  were  so,  for  I  wanted  to  know,  and  she 
told  me  that  the  theater  bored  her,  that  she  had  had  so  many 
disappointments.  She  shuddered  when  she  spoke  of  her  mar- 
riage, and  as  to  her  motherhood,  that  had  only  caused  her  sorrow. 
Her  love  affairs  had  left  her  affections  crushed  and  physically 
disabled.  The  light  seemed  doomed  to  fade  from  her  beautiful 
eyes,  her  legs  were  swollen,  and  could  scarcely  carry  her.  She 
told  me  all  this  in  the  same  calm,  half  weary  tone. 

What  had  charmed  me  only  a  short  time  before  chilled  me 
to  the  heart  now,  for  her  dislike  to  movement  was  caused  by  the 
weakness  of  her  eyes  and  her  legs,  and  her  delight  in  the  shade 
was  only  the  love  of  that  peace  which  was  so  necessary  to  her, 
wounded  as  she  was  by  the  life  she  had  lived. 

The  love  of  life,  though,  took  possession  of  me  more  violently 
than  ever.  I  thanked  my  dear  friend,  and  profited  by  her 
advice.     I  armed  myself  for  the  struggle,  preferring  to  die  in 

1  Prudhon  was  one  of  the  artistes  of  the  Theatre  Fran^ais. 
333 


ME^rORIES    OF    AIY    LIFE 

llic  midst  of  the  l);iltl('  r;itliiT  lliaii  to  end  itiy  life  regretting; 
tliat  it  hiul  ])vvn  n  lailiirc  i  iiiadc  up  my  iiiiiid  uot  to  weep 
over  the  base  things  that  were  said  about  me,  and  not  to  suffer 
any  more  injustices.  I  made  up  my  mind,  too,  to  stand  on  the 
defensive  and  very  soon  an  oecjLsion  presented  itself. 

"  L'Etrangere  "  was  to  be  played  for  the  second  time  at  a 
matinee,  June  21,  1879.  The  day  before  I  had  sent  word  to 
Mayer  that  I  was  not  well  and  that  as  I  was  playing  in  "  Iler- 
nani  "  at  night,  I  should  be  glad  if  he  could  change  the  play 
announced  for  the  afternoon  if  possible.  The  receipts,  however, 
were  more  than  £400  and  the  Committee  would  not  hear  of  it. 

"  Oh,  well,"  Got  said  to  ]\Ir.  Mayer,  "  we  must  give  the  role 
to  some  one  else  if  Sarah  Bernhardt  cannot  play.  There  will 
be  Croizette,  Madeleine  Brohan,  Coquelin,  Febvre,  and  myself 
in  the  cast,  and,  hang  it  all,  it  seems  to  me  that  all  of  us  to- 
gether will  make  up  for  Mile.  Bernhardt." 

Coquelin  was  requested  to  ask  Lloyd  to  take  my  part,  as 
she  had  played  this  role  at  the  Comedie  when  I  was  ill.  Lloyd 
was  afraid  to  undertake  it,  though,  and  refused.  It  was  decided 
to  change  the  play,  and  "  Tartuffe  "  was  given  instead  of 
"L'Etrangere."  Nearly  all  of  the  public,  however,  asked  to 
have  their  money  refunded,  and  the  receipts,  which  would  have 
been  about  £500,  only  amoimted  to  £84. 

All  the  spite  and  jealousy  now  broke  loose,  and  the  whole 
company  of  the  Comedie,  more  particularly  the  men,  with  the 
exception  of  Mr.  Worms,  started  a  campaign  against  me.  Fran- 
cisque  Sarcey,  as  drum  major,  beat  the  measure  with  his  terrible 
pen  in  his  hand.  The  most  foolish,  slanderous,  and  stupid  in- 
ventions and  the  most  odious  lies  took  their  flight  like  a  cloud 
of  wild  ducks  and  swooped  suddenly  down  upon  all  the  news- 
papers that  were  against  me.  It  was  said  that  for  a  shilling 
anyone  might  see  me  dressed  as  a  man;  that  I  smoked  huge 
cigars  leaning  on  the  balcony  of  my  house;  that  at  the  various 
receptions  where  I  gave  one-act  plays,  I  took  my  maid  with  me 
for  the  dialogue ;  that  I  practiced  fencing  in  my  garden,  dressed 
as  a  pierrot  in  white,  and  that  when  taking  boxing  lessons,  I 
had  broken  two  teeth  for  my  unfortunate  professor. 

334 


MY    STAY    IN     ENGLAND 

Some  of  my  friends  advised  me  to  take  no  notice  of  all  these 
turpitudes,  assuring  me  that  the  public  could  not  possibly  be- 
lieve them.  They  were  mistaken,  though,  for  the  public  likes 
to  believe  bad  things  about  anyone,  as  these  are  always  more 
amusing  than  the  good  things.  I  soon  had  a  proof  that  the 
English  public  was  beginning  to  believe  what  the  French  papers 
said.  I  received  a  letter  from  a  tailor  asking  me  if  I  would  con- 
sent to  wear  a  coat  of  his  make  when  I  appeared  in  masculine 
attire,  and  not  only  did  he  offer  me  this  coat  for  nothing,  but 
he  was  willing  to  pay  me  a  hundred  pounds  if  I  would  wear  it. 
This  man  was  quite  an  ill-bred  person,  but  he  was  sincere.  I 
received  several  boxes  of  cigars,  and  the  boxing  and  fencing 
professors  wrote  to  offer  their  services  gratuitously.  All  this 
annoyed  me  to  such  a  degree  that  I  resolved  to  put  an  end 
to  it.  An  article  by  Albert  Wolff  in  the  Paris  Figaro  caused 
me  to  take  steps  to  cut  matters  short. 

And  I  wrote  in  reply  to  it  as  follows: 

Albert  Wolff,  Figaro,  Paris: 

And  you,  too,  ray  dear  M.  Wolff — you  believe  in  such  insanities?  Who 
can  have  been  giving  you  such  false  information?  Yes,  you  are  my  friend, 
though,  for  in  spite  of  all  the  infamies  you  have  been  told  you  have  still  a 
little  indulgence  left.  Well,  then,  I  give  you  my  word  of  honor  that  I  have 
never  dressed  as  a  man  here  in  London.  I  did  not  even  bring  my  sculptor 
costume  with  me.  I  give  the  most  emphatic  denial  to  this  misrepresenta- 
tion. I  only  went  once  to  the  exhibition  which  I  organized,  and  that  was 
on  the  opening  day,  for  which  I  had  only  sent  out  a  few  private  invitations, 
so  that  no  one  paid  a  shilling  to  see  me.  It  is  true  that  I  have  accepted 
some  private  engagements  to  act,  but  you  know  that  I  am  one  of  the  most 
poorly  paid  members  of  the  Com6die  Fran^aise.  I  certainly  have  the  right, 
therefore,  to  try  to  make  up  the  difference.  I  have  ten  pictures  and  eight 
pieces  of  sculpture  on  exhibition.  That,  too,  is  quite  true,  but  as  I  brought 
them  over  here  to  sell  I  really  must  show  them.  As  to  the  respect  due  to  the 
House  of  Molidre,  dear  M.  Wolff,  I  lay  claim  to  keeping  that  in  mind  more 
than  anyone  else,  for  I  am  absolutely  incapable  of  inventing  such  calumnies  for 
the  sake  of  slaying  one  of  its  standard-bearers.  And  now,  if  the  stupidities 
invented  about  me  have  annoyed  the  Parisians  and  if  they  have  decided  to 
receive  me  ungraciously  on  my  return,  I  do  not  wish  anyone  to  be  guilty  of 
such  baseness  on  my  account,  so  I  will  send  in  my  resignation  to  the  Comedie 
Fran^aise.     If  the  London  public  is  tired  of  all  this  fuss  and  should  be 

335 


MEM01Ui:s    OF    MY    LIFE 

inclined  to  show  me  ill-will  instcud  of  the  iudulgence  hitherto  accorded  me, 
I  shuU  ask  the  Com^dio  to  allow  me  to  leave  England  in  order  to  Hpare  our 
company  the  annoyance  of  seeing  one  of  its  members  hooted  at  and  hissed. 
I  am  sending  you  this  letter  by  wire,  as  the  consideration  I  have  for  public 
opinion  gives  me  the  right  to  comndt  such  folly,  and  I  beg  you,  dear 
M.  Wolff,  to  accord  to  my  letter  the  same  honor  as  you  did  to  the  calumnies 
of  my  enemies.  With  very  kind  regards, 

Yours  sincerely, 

Sauah  Bernhardt. 

This  telejjram  caused  niuoh  ink  to  flow.  While  treating  me 
as  a  spoiled  child,  people  generally  agreed  that  I  was  quite 
right.  The  Comedie  was  most  amiable.  I'errin,  the  manager, 
wrote  me  an  affectionate  letter  begging  me  to  give  up  my 
idea  of  leaving  the  company.  The  women  were  most  friendly. 
Crolzette  came  to  see  me  and  putting  her  arms  round  me  said : 
"  Tell  me  you  won't  do  such  a  thing,  my  dear,  foolish  child. 
You  won't  really  send  in  your  rt'signation?  In  the  first  place 
it  would  not  be  accepted,  I  can  answer  for  that. ' ' 

Mounet-Sully  talked  to  me  of  art  and  of  probity.  His 
whole  speech  savored  of  Protestantism.  There  are  several  Prot- 
estant pastors  in  his  family  and  this  influenced  him  uncon- 
sciously. Delaunay,  surnamed  Father  Candor,  came  solemnly 
to  inform  me  of  the  bad  impression  my  telegram  had  made.  He 
told  me  that  the  Comedie  Franeaise  was  a  ministry;  that  there 
was  the  minister,  the  secretary,  the  subchiefs  and  the  em- 
ployes, and  that  each  one  must  conform  to  the  rules  and  bring 
in  his  share  either  of  talent  or  w^ork,  and  so  on  and  so  on.  ...  I 
saw  Coquelin  at  the  theater  in  the  evening.  He  came  to  me 
with  outstretched  hands. 

"  You  know  I  can't  compliment  you,"  he  said,  "  on  your 
rash  action,  but  fortunately  we  shall  make  you  change  your 
mind.  When  one  has  the  good  fortune  and  the  honor  of  be- 
longing to  the  Comedie  Franeaise  one  must  remain  there  until 
the  end  of  one 's  career. ' ' 

Frederic  Febvre  pointed  out  to  me  that  I  ought  to  stay  with 
the  Comedie  because  it  would  save  money  for  me  and  I  was 
quite  incapable  of  doing  that  myself. 

336 


MY    STAY    IN     ENGLAND 

"  Believe  me,"  he  said,  "  when  we  are  with  the  Comedie 
we  must  not  leave,  it  means  our  bread  provided  for  us  later  on." 

Got,  our  dean,  then  approached  me. 

"  Do  you  know  what  you  are  doing  in  sending  in  vour 
resignation?  "  he  asked. 

"  No,"  I  replied. 

"  Deserting." 

"  You  are  mistaken,"  I  answered,  "  I  am  not  deserting;  I 
am  changing  barracks." 

Others  then  came  to  me  and  they  all  gave  me  advice  tinged 
by  their  own  personality,  Mounet,  as  a  seer  or  believer,  De- 
launay  prompted  by  his  bureaucratic  soul,  Coquelin  as  a  politi- 
cian blaming  another  person's  idea  now,  but  extolling  it  later 
on  and  putting  it  into  practice  for  his  own  profit — Febvre,  a 
lover  of  respectability — Got,  as  a  selfish  old  growler,  under- 
standing nothing  but  the  orders  of  the  powers  that  be  and 
advancement  as  ordained  on  hierarchical  lines.  Worms  said 
to  me  in  his  melancholy  way: 

"  Will  people  be  better  elsewhere?  " 

Worms  had  the  most  dreamy  soul  and  the  most  frank, 
straightforward  character  of  any  member  of  our  illustrious 
company.     I  liked  him  immensely. 

We  were  about  to  return  to  Paris  and  I  wanted  to  forget 
all  these  things  for  a  time.  I  was  in  a  hesitating  mood,  I  post- 
poned taking  a  definite  decision. 


23  337 


CHAPTER   XXIII 

I   AGAIN   LEAVE   THE   COMEDIE   FRANCAISE 

jHE  stir  that  had  been  made  about  me,  the  good  that 
had  been  said  in  my  favor,  and  the  bad  thinc^s 
written  against  me,  all  this  combined  had  created 
in  the  artistic  world  an  atmosphere  of  battle.  When 
on  the  point  of  leaving  for  Paris,  some  of  my  friends  felt  very 
anxious  about  the  reception  which  I  should  get  there.  The 
public  is  very  much  mistaken  in  imagining  that  the  agitation 
made  about  celebrated  artistes  is  in  reality  instigated  by  the  per- 
sons concerned  and  that  they  do  it  purposely.  Irritated  at 
seeing  the  same  name  constantly  appearing  on  every  occasion 
the  public  declares  that  the  artiste  who  is  either  being  slandered 
or  pampered  is  an  ardent  lover  of  publicity.  Alas !  three  times 
over  alas!  We  are  victims  of  the  said  advertisement.  Those 
who  know  the  joys  and  miseries  of  celebrity  when  they  have 
passed  the  age  of  forty  know  how  to  defend  themselves.  They 
are  at  the  beginning  of  a  series  of  small  worries,  thunderbolts 
hidden  under  flowers,  but  they  know  how  to  hold  in  check  that 
monster  advertisement.  It  is  a  sort  of  octopus  with  innumer- 
able tentacles.  It  throws  out  its  clammy  arms  on  the  right  and 
on  the  left,  in  front  and  behind,  and  gathers  in  through  its 
thousand  little  inhaling  organs,  all  the  gossip  and  slander  and 
praise  afloat  to  spit  out  again  at  the  public  when  it  is  vomiting 
its  black  gall.  But  those  who  are  caught  in  the  clutches  of 
celebrity  at  the  age  of  twenty  know  nothing.  I  remember  that 
the  first  time  a  reporter  came  to  me  I  drew  upself  up  straight 
and  was  as  red  as  a  coxcomb  with  joy.     I  was  just  seventeen 

338 


SARAH    BERNHARDT    AS    THE    DUG    DE    RICHELIEU. 


I    AGAIN    LEAVE    THE     COMEDIE    FRANCAISE 

years  old — I  had  been  acting  in  a  private  house  and  had  taken 
the  part  of  Richelieu  with  immense  success.  This  gentleman 
came  to  call  on  me  at  home  and  asked  me  first  one  question 
and  then  another,  and  then  another — I  answered  and  chattered 
and  was  wild  with  pride  and  excitement.  He  took  notes  and  I 
kept  looking  at  my  mother.  It  seemed  to  me  that  I  was  getting 
taller.  I  had  to  kiss  my  mother  by  way  of  keeping  my  composure 
and  I  hid  my  face  on  her  shoulder  to  hide  my  delight.  Finally, 
the  gentleman  rose,  shook  hands  with  me,  and  then  took  his  de- 
parture. I  skipped  about  in  the  room  and  began  to  turn  round 
singing,  ''  Trots  pctits  pates,  ma  chemise  hriile,'^  when  suddenly 
the  door  opened  and  the  gentleman  said  to  mamma,  "  Oh, 
madame,  I  forgot,  this  is  the  receipt  for  the  subscription  to  the 
journal!  It  is  a  mere  nothing,  only  sixteen  francs  a  year." 
Mamma  did  not  understand  at  first.  As  for  me,  I  stood  still 
with  my  mouth  open,  unable  to  digest  my  petits  pates. 
Mamma  then  paid  the  sixteen  francs  and  in  her  pity  for  me, 
as  I  was  crying  by  that  time,  she  stroked  my  hair  gently.  Since 
then  I  have  been  delivered  over  to  the  monster,  bound  hand  and 
foot,  and  I  have  been  and  still  am  acciLsed  of  adoring  advertise- 
ment. And  to  think  that  my  first  claims  to  celebrity  were  my 
extraordinary  thinness  and  delicate  health.  I  had  scarcely 
made  my  debut  when  epigrams,  puns,  jokes,  and  cariatures  con- 
cerning me  were  indulged  in  by  everyone  to  their  heart's  con- 
tent. Was  it  really  for  the  sake  of  advertising  myself  that  I 
was  so  thin,  so  small,  so  weak,  and  was  it  for  this,  too,  that  I  re- 
mained in  bed  six  months  of  the  year,  laid  low  by  illness?  My 
name  became  celebrated  before  I  was,  myself.  At  the  first 
night  of  Louis  Bouilhet's  piece  "  Mile.  Aisse  "  at  the  Odeon, 
Flaubert,  who  was  an  intimate  friend  of  the  author,  introduced 
an  attache  of  the  British  Embassy  to  me. 

"  Oh,  I  have  known  you  for  some  time,  mademoiselle,"  he 
said,  ''  you  are  the  little  stick  with  the  sponge  on  the  top !  " 

This  caricature  of  me  had  just  appeared  and  had  been  the 
delight  of  idle  folks.  I  was  quite  a  young  girl  at  that  time  and 
nothing  of  that  kind  hurt  me  or  troubled  me.  In  the  first  place 
all  the  doctors  had  given  me  up,  so  that  I  was  indifferent  about 

339 


MEMORIES    OF    MY    TJFE 

things,  but  all  the  doctors  were  mistaken  and  twenty  years  later 
I  had  to  fight  against  tlie  monster. 

The  return  of  the  Comedie  to  their  homes  wiis  an  event,  but 
an  event  that  was  kept  quiet.  Our  departure  from  Paris  had 
been  very  lively  and  gay  and  quite  a  public  event.  Our  return 
was  clandestine  for  many  of  the  members,  and  for  me  among 
the  number.  It  was  a  doleful  return  for  those  who  had  not 
been  appreciated  and  those  who  had  been  failures  were  furious. 
I  had  not  been  back  home  an  hour  when  Perrin,  the  manager, 
was  annoimced.  lie  began  to  reproach  me  gently  about  the 
little  care  I  took  of  my  health.  He  said  I  caused  too  much  fus."? 
to  be  made  about  me. 

"But,"  I  exclaimed,  "is  it  my  fault  if  I  am  thin?  Is 
it  my  fault,  too,  that  my  hair  is  too  curly  and  that  I  don't 
think  just  as  other  people  do?  Supposing  that  I  took  arsenic 
enough,  for  a  whole  month,  to  make  me  swell  out  like  a  barrel 
and  supposing  I  were  to  shave  my  head  like  an  Arab  and  only 
answer  '  Yes  '  to  everything  you  said.  People  would  declare  I 
did  it  for  advertisement." 

"  But,  my  dear  child,"  answered  Perrin,  "  there  are  people 
who  are  neither  fat  nor  thin,  neither  close  shaven  nor  with 
shocks  of  hair,  and  who  answer  yes  and  no. ' ' 

I  was  simply  petrified  by  the  justice  and  reason  of  the  re- 
mark and  I  understand  the  "because  "  of  all  the  "  whys  "  I 
had  been  asking  myself  for  some  years.  There  was  no  happy 
medium  about  me.  I  was  "  too  much  "  and  "  too  little  "  and 
I  felt  that  there  was  nothing  to  be  done  for  it.  I  owned  it  to 
Perrin  and  told  him  that  he  was  quite  right.  He  took  advan- 
tage of  my  mood  for  lecturing  me  and  for  advising  me  not  to 
put  in  an  appearance  at  the  opening  ceremony  that  was  to  take 
place  at  the  Comedie.  He  feared  a  cabal  against  me.  "  Some 
people  were  rather  excited,  rightly  or  wrongly,  a  little  of  both, ' ' 
he  added,  in  that  shrewd  and  courteous  way  which  was  peculiar 
to  him.  I  listened  to  him  without  interrupting,  which  slightly 
embarrassed  him,  for  Perrin  was  an  arguer  but  not  an  orator. 

When  he  had  finished  I  said:  "  You  have  told  me  too  many 
things  that  excite  me,  M.  Perrin.     I  love  a  battle  and  I  shall 

340 


I    AGAIN    LEAVE    THE    COMEDIE    ERANCJAISE 


b 


appear  at  the  ceremony.  You  see  I  have  already  been  warned 
about  it.  Here  are  three  anonymous  letters.  Read  this  one,  it 
is  the  nicest. ' ' 

He  unfolded  the  letter,  which  was  perfumed  with  amber, 
and  read  as  follows: 

My  poor  skeleton,  you  will  do  well  not  to  show  your  horrible  Jewish  nose 
at  the  opening  ceremony  the  day  after  to-morrow.  I  fear  that  it  would  serve 
as  a  target  for  all  the  potatoes  that  are  now  being  cooked  specially  for  you 
in  your  kind  city  of  Paris.  Have  some  paragraphs  put  in  the  papers  to  the 
effect  that  you  have  been  sjiitting  blood  and  remain  in  bed  and  think  over 
the  consequences  of  excessive  advertisement. 

A   SUBSCKIBEK 

Perrin  pushed  the  letter  away  from  him  in  disgust. 

"  Here  are  two  more,"  I  said,  "  but  they  are  so  coarse  that 
I  will  spare  you.     I  shall  go  to  the  opening  ceremony. ' ' 

'  *  Good !  ' '  replied  Perrin.  ' '  They  are  rehearsing  to- 
morrow, shall  you  comel  " 

"  I  shall  come,"  I  answered. 

The  next  day  at  the  rehearsal  the  artistes,  men  and  women, 
did  not  care  about  gping  on  to  the  stage  to  make  their  bow  with 
me.  I  must  say,  though,  that  they  all  nevertheless  showed  much 
good  grace.  But  I  declared  that  I  wished  to  go  on  alone,  al- 
though it  was  against  the  rule,  but  I  thought  I  ought  to  face  the 
ill  humor  and  the  cabal  alone. 

The  house  was  crowded  when  the  curtain  rose.  The  cere- 
mony commenced  in  the  midst  of  '  *  Bravos !  ' '  The  public  was 
delighted  to  see  its  beloved  artistes  again.  They  advanced  two 
by  two,  one  on  the  right  and  the  other  on  the  left,  holding 
the  palm  and  the  crown  to  place  on  the  pedestal  of  Moliere's 
bust.  My  turn  came  and  I  advanced  alone.  I  felt  that  I  was 
pale  and  then  livid,  with  a  will  that  was  determined  to  conquer. 
I  went  forward  slowly  toward  the  footlights,  but  instead  of 
bowing  as  my  comrades  had  done  I  stood  up  erect  and  gazed 
with  my  two  eyes  into  all  the  eyes  turning  toward  me.  I  had 
been  warned  of  the  battle  and  did  not  wish  to  provoke  it,  but 
I  would  not  fly  from  it.  I  waited  a  second  and  felt  the  thrill 
and  the  emotion  that  ran  through  the  house,  and  then,  suddenly 

341 


MEMORIES    OF    MY    LIFE 

stirred  by  an  impulse  of  generous  kindliness,  the  whole  house 
hurst  into  wild  applause  and  shouts,  'i'he  public,  so  beloved 
and  so  loving?,  was  intoxicated  with  joy.  That  was  certainly 
one  of  the  finest  triumphs  of  my  whole  career.  Some  of  the 
artistes  were  very  delighted,  especially  the  women,  for  there  is 
one  thing  to  remark  with  regard  to  our  art,  the  men  are  more 
jealous  of  the  women  than  the  women  are  among  themselves. 
1  have  met  with  many  enemies  among  the  men  comedians  and 
with  very  few  among  the  women.  I  think  that  the  dramatic  art 
is  essentially  feminine.  To  paint  one's  face,  to  hide  one's  real 
feelings,  to  try  to  please  and  to  endeavor  to  attract  attention, 
these  are  all  faults  for  which  we  blame  women  and  for  which 
great  indulgence  is  shown.  These  same  defects  seem  odious  in 
a  man.  And  yet  the  actor  must  endeavor  to  be  as  attractive  as 
possible,  even  if  he  is  obliged  to  have  recourse  to  paint  and  to 
false  beard  and  hair.  He  may  be  a  Republican  and  he  must 
uphold  with  warmth  and  conviction  royalist  theories.  He  may 
be  a  Conservative  and  must  maintain  anarchist  principles,  if 
such  be  the  good  pleasure  of  the  author. 

At  the  Theatre  Francais  poor  Maubant  was  a  most  advanced 
Radical  and  his  stature  and  handsome  face  doomed  him  to  play 
the  parts  of  kings,  emperors,  and  tyrants.  As  long  as  the  re- 
hearsals went  on,  Charlemagne  or  Caesar  could  be  heard  swear- 
ing at  tyrants,  cursing  the  conquerors,  and  claiming  the  hardest 
punishments  for  them.  I  thoroughly  enjoyed  this  struggle  be- 
tween the  man  and  the  actor.  Perhaps  this  perpetual  abstrac- 
tion from  himself  gives  the  comedian  a  more  feminine  nature. 
However  that  may  be,  it  is  certain  that  the  actor  is  jealous 
of  the  actress.  The  courtesy  of  the  well-educated  man  vanishes 
before  the  footlights,  and  the  comedian,  who  in  private  life 
would  render  a  service  to  a  woman  in  any  difficulty,  will  pick 
a  quarrel  with  her  on  the  stage.  He  woidd  risk  his  life  to  save 
her  from  any  danger  in  the  road,  on  the  railway,  or  on  a  boat, 
but  when  once  on  the  boards  he  will  not  do  anything  to  help 
her  out  of  a  difficulty.  If  her  memory  should  fail,  or  if  she 
should  make  a  false  step,  he  would  not  hesitate  to  piLsh  her — I  am 
going  a  long  way,  perhaps,  but  not  so  far  as  people  may  think 

342 


I    AGAIN    LEAVE    THE    COMEDIE    FRANCAISE 


s 


I  have  performed  with  some  celebrated  comedians  who  have 
played  me  some  bad  tricks.  On  the  other  hand,  there  are  some 
actors  who  are  admirable  and  who  are  more  men  than  comedians 
when  on  the  stage.  Pierre  Berton,  Worms,  and  Guitry  are, 
and  always  will  be,  the  most  perfect  models  of  friendly  and 
protecting  courtesy  toward  the  woman  comedian.  I  have 
played  in  a  number  of  pieces  with  each  of  them  and,  subject 
as  I  am  to  stage  fright,  I  have  always  felt  perfect  confidence 
when  acting  with  these  three  artistes.  I  knew  that  their  in- 
telligence was  of  a  high  order,  that  they  had  pity  on  me  for 
my  fright,  and  that  they  would  be  prepared  for  any  nervous 
weaknesses  caused  by  it.  Pierre  Berton  and  Worms,  both  of 
them,  very  great  artistes,  left  the  stage  in  full  artistic  vigor  and 
vital  strength,  Pierre  Berton  to  devote  himself  to  literature,  and 
Worms — no  one  knows  why.  As  to  Guitry,  much  the  youngest 
of  the  three,  he  is  now  the  first  artiste  on  the  French  stage,  for 
he  is  an  admirable  comedian  and  at  the  same  time  an  artist,  a 
very  rare  thing  in  a  man.  I  know  very  few  artistes  in  France 
or  in  other  countries  with  these  two  qualities  combined.  Henry 
Irving  is  an  admirable  artiste  but  not  a  comedian;  Coquelin  is 
an  admirable  comedian,  but  he  is  not  an  artiste.  Mounet-Sully 
has  geniiLS  which  he  sometimes  places  at  the  service  of  the 
artiste  and  sometimes  at  the  service  of  the  comedian,  but  on  the 
other  hand,  he  sometimes  gives  us  exaggerations  as  artiste  and 
comedian  which  make  lovers  of  Beauty  and  Truth  gnash  their 
teeth.  Bartet  is  a  perfect  comedienne  with  a  very  delicate 
artistic  sense.  Re  jane  is  the  most  comedian  of  comedians  and 
an  artiste  when  she  wishes  to  be.  Eleonora  Duse  is  more  a 
comedian  than  an  artiste.  She  walks  in  paths  that  have  been 
traced  out  by  others.  She  does  not  imitate  them,  certainly  not, 
for  she  plants  flowers  where  there  were  trees  and  trees  where 
there  were  flowers,  but  she  has  never  by  her  art  made  a  single 
personage  stand  out  identified  by  her  name ;  she  has  not  created 
a  being  or  a  vision  which  reminds  one  of  herself.  She  has  put 
on  other  people's  gloves,  but  she  has  put  them  on  inside  out. 
And  all  this  she  has  done  with  infinite  grace  and  with  careless 
unconsciousness.    She  is  a  great  comedienne,  a  very  great  come- 

343 


MEMORIES    OF    MY    IJFE 

dienne,  but  not  a  •ircat  artiste.  Novelli  is  a  comedian  of  the  old 
school  which  did  not  trouble  much  about  the  artistic  side.  Ho 
is  perfect  in  laufjhter  and  tears.  Beatrice  Patrick  Campbell  is 
especially  an  artiste  and  her  talent  is  that  of  charm  and  thoug^ht ; 
she  execrates  beaten  paths,  she  wants  to  create  and  she  creates. 
Antoine  is  often  betrayed  by  his  own  powers,  for  his  voice  is 
heavy  and  his  general  appearance  rather  ordinary.  As  a  come- 
dian there  is  therefore  often  much  to  be  desired,  but  he  is 
always  an  artiste  without  equal  and  our  art  owes  much  to  him 
in  its  evolution  in  the  direction  of  truth.  Antoine,  too,  is  not 
jealous  of  the  woman  comedian. 

The  days  which  followed  the  return  of  the  Comedie  to  its 
own  home  were  very  trying  for  me.  Our  manager  wanted  to 
subdue  me  and  he  tortured  me  with  a  thousand  little  pin  pricks 
which  were  much  more  painful  for  a  nature  like  mine  than  so 
many  stabs  with  a  knife.  I  became  irritable,  bad  tempered, 
on  the  slightest  provocation  and  was,  in  fact,  ill.  I  had  always 
been  gay  and  now  I  was  sad.  ]\Iy  health,  which  had  ever  been 
feeble,  was  endangered  by  this  state  of  chaos. 

Perrin  gave  me  the  role  of  the  Aventtiriere  to  study.  I  de- 
tested the  piece  and  did  not  like  the  part,  and  I  considered  the 
lines  of  ''  L 'Aventuriere  "  very  bad  poetry  indeed.  As  I  can- 
not dissimulate  well,  in  a  fit  of  temper  I  said  this  straight  out 
to  Emile  Augier,  and  he  avenged  himself  in  a  most  discourteous 
way  on  the  first  opportunity  that  presented  itself.  This  was  on 
the  occasion  of  my  definite  rupture  with  the  Comedie  Franqaise, 
the  day  after  the  first  performance  of  "  L 'Aventuriere  "  on 
Saturday,  April  17,  1880.  I  was  not  ready  to  play  my  part 
and  the  proof  of  this  was  a  letter  I  w^rote  to  ]\I.  Perrin,  April 
14,  1880. 

I  regret  very  much,  my  dear  Monsieur  Perrin,  but  I  have  such  a  sore 
throat  that  I  cannot  speak  and  am  obliged  to  stay  in  bed.  Will  you 
kindly  excuse  me?  It  was  at  that  wretched  Trocad6ro  that  I  took  cold  on 
Sunday.  I  am  very  much  worried,  as  I  know  it  will  cause  you  incon- 
venience. Anyhow,  I  will  be  ready  for  Saturday,  whatever  happens.  A 
thousand  excuses  and  kind  regards. 

Sabah  Bernhardt. 
344 


I    AGAIN    LEAVE    THE    COMEDIE    FRANCAISE 

I  was  able  to  play,  as  I  had  recovered  from  my  sore  throat, 
but  I  had  not  studied  my  part  during  the  three  days,  as  I  could 
not  speak.  I  had  not  been  able  to  try  on  my  costumes,  either, 
as  I  had  been  in  bed  all  the  time.  On  Friday  I  went  to  ask 
Perrin  to  put  off  the  performance  of  "  L 'Aventuriere  "  until 
the  next  week.  He  replied  that  it  was  impossible,  that  every 
seat  was  booked,  and  that  the  piece  had  to  be  played  the  fol- 
lowing Tuesday  for  the  subscription  night.  I  let  myself  be 
persuaded  to  act,  as  I  had  confidence  in  my  star. 

"  Oh!  "  I  said  to  myself,  "  I  shall  get  through  it  all  right." 

I  did  not  get  through  it,  though,  or  rather  I  came  through 
it  very  badly.  My  costume  was  a  failure:  it  did  not  fit  me. 
The3^  had  always  jeered  at  me  for  my  thinness  and  in  this  dress 
I  looked  like  an  English  teapot.  My  voice  was  still  rather  hoarse, 
which  very  much  disconcerted  me.  I  played  the  first  part  of  the 
role  very  badly  and  the  second  part  rather  better.  At  a  certain 
moment  during  the  scene  of  violence  I  was  standing  up,  resting 
my  two  hands  on  the  table  on  which  there  was  a  lighted  candela- 
brum. There  was  a  cry  raised  in  the  house,  for  my  hair  was  very 
near  to  the  flame.  The  following  day  one  of  the  papers  said  that, 
as  I  felt  things  were  all  going  wrong,  I  wanted  to  set  my  hair  on 
fire  so  that  the  piece  should  come  to  an  end  before  I  failed  com- 
pletely. That  was  certainly  the  very  climax  of  stupidity.  The 
press  did  not  praise  me  and  the  press  was  quite  right.  I  had 
played  badly,  looked  ugly,  and  been  in  a  bad  temper,  but  I 
considered  that  there  was  nevertheless  a  want  of  courtesy  and 
indulgence  toward  me.  Auguste  Vitu,  in  the  Figaro  of  April 
18,  1880,  finished  his  article  with  the  phrase:  "  The  new 
Clorinde  (the  Adventuress)  in  the  last  two  acts  made  some  ges- 
tures with  her  arms  and  movements  of  her  body  which  one 
regrets  to  see  taken  from  Virginie  of  "  L'Assommoir  "  and  in- 
troduced at  the  Comedie  Frangaise." 

The  only  fault  which  I  never  have  had,  which  I  never  shall 
have,  is  vulgarity.  That  was  an  injustice  and  a  determination 
to  hurt  my  feelings.  Vitu  was  no  friend  of  mine,  but  I  under- 
stood from  this  way  of  attacking  me  that  petty  hatreds  were 
lifting   up    their    rattlesnake   heads.     All   the    low-down    little 

345 


MKMOUIKS    Ol'    MV    LIFE 

vipci-  wdfid  \v;i.s  ci-iwrm^'  nhoiit  umlcr  my  flowers  Jind  my 
laurels.  I  li;ul  known  what  was  Roin^j  on  for  ;i  loii^'  tirne,  and 
sometimes  I  had  heard  rattliii<r  behind  the  seenes.  I  wanted 
to  have  tlie  enjoyment  of  hearing'  them  all  rattle  tof^ether  and 
so  I  threw  my  laurels  and  my  flowers  to  the  four  winds  of 
heaven.  In  the  most  abrupt  way  I  broke  the  contract  which 
hound  me  to  the  Comedie  Fraueaise,  and  throu<rh  that  to  Paris. 
I  shut  myself  up  all  the  morning,  and  after  endless  dis- 
cussions with  myself,  I  decided  to  send  in  niy  resignation  to  the 
Comedie.     I  therefore  wrote  to  M.  Perrin,  this  letter: 

To  THE  Director: 

You  have  compelled  me  to  play  when  I  was  not  ready.  You  have  ac- 
corded me  only  eight  rehearsals  on  the  stage  and  the  play  has  been  rehearsed 
entirely  only  three  times.  I  was  very  unwilling  to  appear  before  the  public. 
You  insisted  absolutely.  "What  I  foresaw  has  happened.  The  result  of  the 
performance  has  surpassed  my  anticipations.  A  critic  pretended  that  I 
played  Virginie  de  V Assommoir  instead  of  Doflri  Clorinde  de  "  VAventiiriere." 
May  Emile  Augier  and  Zola  absolve  me !  It  is  my  first  rebufE  at  the  Comedie 
and  shall  be  my  last.  I  warned  you  the  day  of  the  general  rehearsal.  You 
have  gone  too  far.  I  keep  my  word.  By  the  time  you  receive  this  letter  I 
shall  have  left  Paris.  Will  you  kindly  accept  my  immediate  resignation  and 
believe  me,  yours  sincerely, 

Sarah  Bershardt. 

In  order  that  this  resignation  might  not  be  refused  at  the 
Committee  meeting  I  sent  copies  of  my  letter  to  the  Gaulois  and 
the  Figaro,  and  it  was  published  at  the  same  time  as  ]M.  Perrin 
received  it. 

Then,  quite  decided  not  to  be  influenced  by  anybody,  I  set 
off  at  once,  with  my  maid,  for  Havre.  I  had  left  orders  that 
no  one  was  to  be  told  where  I  w^as,  and  the  first  evening  I  was 
there  I  passed  in  strict  incognito.  But  the  next  morning  I  was 
recognized  and  telegrams  were  sent  to  Paris  to  that  effect.  I 
w^as  besieged  by  reporters. 

I  took  refuge  at  La  Heve  where  I  spent  the  whole  day  on 
the  beach  in  spite  of  the  cold  rain  which  fell  without  ceasing. 

I  went  back  to  the  Hotel  Frascati,  frozen,  and  in  the  night 

346 


i*" ' 


SARAH   BERNHARDT,    1879. 


I    AGAIN    LEAVE    THE     COMEDIE    FRANCAISE 

I  was  so  feverish  that  the  doctor  was  summoned.  Mme.  Giie- 
rard,  who  was  sent  for  by  my  alarmed  maid,  came  at  once,  and 
I  was  feverish  for  two  days.  During  this  time  the  newspapers 
continued  to  pour  out  a  flood  of  ink  on  paper.  This  turned  to 
bitterness  and  I  was  accused  of  the  worst  misdeeds.  The  Com- 
mittee sent  a  linissier  to  my  hotel  in  the  Avenue  de  Villiers,  and 
this  man  declared  that  after  having  knocked  three  times  at  the 
door  and  having  received  no  answer  he  had  left  copy,  etc., 
etc.  .  .  . 

The  man  was  lying.  In  the  hotel  there  were  my  son  and  his 
tutor,  my  steward,  the  husband  of  my  maid,  my  butler,  the 
cook,  the  kitchenmaid,  the  second  lady's  maid,  and  five  dogs; 
but  it  was  all  in  vain  that  I  protested  against  the  minion  of  the 
law;  it  was  useless. 

The  Comedie  must,  according  to  the  rules,  send  me  three 
summonses;  this  was  not  done  and  a  lawsuit  was  commenced 
against  me.    It  was  lost  in  advance. 

Maitre  Allon,  the  advocate  of  the  Comedie  Franeaise,  in- 
vented wicked  little  histories  about  me.  He  took  a  pleasure  in 
trying  to  make  me  ridiculous.  He  had  a  big  file  of  letters  from 
me  to  Perrin,  letters  which  I  had  written  in  softer  moments  or 
in  anger.  Perrin  had  kept  them  all,  even  the  shortest  notes. 
I  had  kept  none  of  his.  The  few  letters  to  myself  from  Perrin 
which  have  been  published  were  given  by  him  from  his  letter- 
copy  book.  Of  course  he  gave  only  those  which  could  inspire 
the  public  with  an  idea  of  his  paternal  kindness  to  me 
etc,  etc.  .  .  , 

The  pleading  of  Maitre  Allon  was  very  successful ;  he 
claimed  three  hundred  thousand  francs  damages,  in  addition 
to  the  confiscation  for  the  benefit  of  the  Comedie  Frangaise,  of 
the  43,000  francs  which  that  theater  owed  me. 

Maitre  Barboux  was  my  advocate.  He  was  an  intimate 
friend  of  Perrin.  He  defended  me  very  indifferently.  I  was 
condemned  to  pay  a  hundred  thousand  francs  to  the  Comedie 
Franeaise  and  to  lose  the  43,000  francs  which  I  had  left  with  the 
management.  I  may  say  that  I  did  not  trouble  much  about 
this  law  suit. 

347 


MKMOKIES    OF    M\     LIFE 

'J'liicf  (liiys  aTtcr  my  rcsifrnation  Jai-rctt  callod  upou  inc. 
He  proposetl  to  nie  for  the  third  time  to  make  a  contract  for 
America,  This  time  I  lent  an  ear  to  his  jjropositions.  We  had 
never  spoken  about  prices  and  this  is  what  he  proposed  : 

Five  thousand  francs  for  each  performance  and  the  half  of 
the  takings  above  15,000  francs;  that  is  to  say,  if  the  day  the  rf- 
ceipts  reached  the  sum  of  20,000  francs,  I  should  receive  7,500 
francs.  In  addition :  1,000  francs  per  week  for  my  hotel  bill ; 
also,  a  special  Pullman  for  my  journeys,  containing  my  bedroom, 
a  drawing-room  with  a  piano,  four  beds  for  my  staff,  and  two 
cooks  to  cook  for  me  on  the  way.  Mr.  Jarrett  was  to  have  ten 
per  cent,  on  all  sums  received  by  me. 

I  accepted  everything.  I  was  anxious  to  leave  Paris.  Jar- 
rett immediately  sent  a  telegram  to  ]\Ir.  Abbey,  the  great  Amer- 
ican impresario,  and  he  landed  on  this  side  thirteen  days  later. 
I  signed  the  contract  made  by  Jarrett,  which  was  discussed 
clause  by  clause  with  the  American  manager. 

I  was  given,  on  signing  the  contract,  100,000  francs  as  ad- 
vance payment  for  the  expenses  of  departure.  I  was  to  play 
eight  pieces:  "  Hernani,"  "  Phedre,"  '*  Adrienne  Lecou- 
vreur,"  *'  Froufrou,"  "  La  Dame  aux  Camelias,"  "  Le 
Sphinx,"  **  L'Etrangere,"  and  ''  La  Princesse  George." 

I  ordered  twenty-five  costumes  for  town  wear  at  Laf erriere  's, 
with  whom  I  then  dealt. 

At  Baron's  I  ordered  six  costumes  for  '*  Adrienne  Le- 
couvreur,"  and  four  costumes  for  "  Hernani."  I  ordered 
from  a  young  theater  costumier  named  Lepaul,  my  costume  for 
"  Phedre."  These  thirty-six  costimies  cost  me  61,000  francs; 
but  out  of  this  my  costume  for  "  Phedre  "  alone  cost  4,000 
francs.  The  poor  artiste-costumier  had  embroidered  it  himself. 
It  was  a  marvel.  It  was  brought  to  me  two  days  before  my 
departure  and  I  cannot  think  of  this  moment  without  emotion. 
Irritated  by  long  Avaiting,  I  was  writing  an  angry  letter  to  the 
costumier  when  he  was  announced.  At  first  I  received  him  very 
badly,  but  I  found  him  looking  so  ill,  the  poor  man,  that  I  made 
him  sit  down  and  asked  how  he  came  to  be  so  ill. 

*'  Yes,  I  am  not  at  all  well,"  he  said  in  such  a  weak  voice, 

348 


I    AGAIN    LEAVE    THE     COMEDIE    FRANCAISE 

that  I  was  quite  upset.  "  I  wanted  to  finish  this  dress  and  I 
have  worked  at  it  three  days  and  nights.  But  look  how  nice  it 
is,  your  costume!  "  And  he  spread  it  out  with  loving  respect 
before  me. 

' '  Look !  ' '  remarked  Guerard,  ' '  a  little  spot !  ' ' 

"  Ah,  I  pricked  myself,"  answered  the  poor  artiste  quickly. 

But  I  had  just  caught  sight  of  a  drop  of  blood  at  the  corner 
of  his  lips.  He  wiped  it  quickly  away  so  that  it  should  not  fall 
on  the  pretty  costume  as  the  other  little  spot  had  done.  I  gave 
the  artiste  the  4,000  francs,  which  he  took  with  trembling  hands. 
He  murmured  some  unintelligible  words  and  withdrew. 

' '  Take  away  this  costume,  take  it  away !  "  I  cried  to  my 
petite  dame  and  my  maid.  And  I  cried  so  much  that  I  had  the 
hiccough  all  the  evening.  Nobody  understood  why  I  was  crying. 
But  I  reproached  myself  bitterly  for  having  worried  the  poor 
man.  It  was  plain  that  he  was  dying.  And  by  the  force  of 
circumstances  I  had  unwittingly  forged  the  first  link  of  the 
chain  of  death  which  was  dragging  to  the  tomb  this  youth  of 
twenty-two — this  artiste  with  a  future  before  him. 

I  would  never  wear  this  costume.  It  is  still  in  its  box  yel- 
lowed with  age.  Its  gold  embroidery  is  tarnished  by  time,  and 
the  little  spot  of  blood  has  slightly  reddened  the  stuff.  As  to  the 
poor  artiste,  I  learned  of  his  death  during  my  stay  in  London 
in  the  month  of  May,  for  before  leaving  for  America  I  signed 
with  Hollingshead  and  Mayer,  the  impresarios  of  the  Comedie, 
a  contract  which  bound  me  to  them  from  the  24th  May  to  the 
24th  June  (1880). 

It  was  during  this  period  that  the  lawsuit  which  the  Comedie 
Francaise  brought  against  me  was  judged. 

Maitre  Barboux  did  not  consult  me  about  anything,  and  my 
success  in  London,  which  was  achieved  without  the  help  of  the 
Comedie,  irritated  the  Committee,  the  press,  and  the  public. 

Maitre  Allon,  in  his  pleadings,  pretended  that  the  London 
public,  which  was  quickly  tired  of  me,  would  not  now  come  to 
those  performances  of  the  Comedie  in  which  I  appeared. 

The  following  list  gives  the  best  possible  denial  to  the  as- 
sertions of  Maitre  Allon: 

349 


MEMORIES    OF    MV    LIFE 


Performances  given  hy  the   Comedie  Frangaue  at  the   Gaiety    Theatre.      The 
crosses  indicate  the  pieces  in  which  I  ajypeared. 

^^^^                                                             '  ^"^^8  in  franca 
June    3  Prologue  of  "  Le  Misanthrope;"  "  PhMre,"  Acte  II 

"  Les  Prc'cieuses  Ridicules "  X       13.080 

3  "  L'Etrangere "  X       12.565 

4  "  Le  Fils  Naturel "  9.300 

5  "  Les  Caprices  de  Marianne  " 
"La  Joie  Fait  Peur  "  10.100 

6  "LeMenteur" 
"  Le  MMecin  Malgre  Lui  "  9.530 

7  "  Le  Marquis  de  Ville  Mer "  9.960 
7  (Matin6e)      "Tartufife" 

' '  La  Joie  Fait  Peur  "  8.700 

9  "Hernani"  X       13.600 

10  "  Le  Demi-monde "  11.425 

11  "  Mile,  de  Belle  Isle  " 
"II  Faut  qu'une  Porte  Soit  Ouverte  ou  Ferm^e ''  10.420 

13  "  Le  Post-scriptum  " 

"  Le  Gendre  de  M.  Poirier  "  10.445 

13  "Phedre"  13.920 

14  "  Le  Luthier  de  Cr6m6ne  " 
"Le  Sphinx"  X       13.350 

14  (Matin6e)     "Le  Misanthrope" 

"  Les  Plaideurs  "  8.800 

16  "L'ami  Fritz"  9.375 

17  "Zaire" 
"  Les  Pr6cieuses  Ridicules ''  X       13.075 

18  (Matinee)     "  Le  Jeu  de  I'Amour  et  du  Hasard  " 
"  II  ne  Faut  Jurer  de  Rien  "  1 1.550 

18  "  Le  Demi-monde "  12.160 

20  ' '  Les  Fourchambault "  1 1 .  200 

21  "Hernani"  X       13.375 
31  (Matinee)  "TartufFe" 

"II  Faut  qu'une  Porte  Soit  Ouverte  ou  Ferm^e"  2.115 
33  "Gringoire" 

"On  ne  Badine  pas  avee  I'Amour"  11.080 

24  "  Chez  I'Avocat " 

"Mile,  de  la  Seigliere"  9.660 

35  (Matin6e)     "  L'Etrangere "  X       11.710 

35  "Le  Barbier  de  Seville"  9.180 

350 


I 

AGAIN 

LEAVE    THE    COMEDIE 

FRANCAISE 

1879 

PLAYS — ccmtinued 

Receipts 
in  francs 

June  26 

"  Andromaque" 

"  Les  Plaideurs  " 

X 

13.350 

a 

27 

"L'Avare" 
"L'Etiueelle" 

11.775 

(( 

28 

"Le  Sphinx" 

"  Le  D6pit  Amoureux  " 

X 

12.860 

(1 

28 

(Matinee) 

"  Hernani " 

X 

13.730 

u 

30 

"Ruy  Bias" 

X 

13.660 

July 

1 

"Mercadet" 

"L'dt6  delaSt.  Martin" 

9.850 

i< 

2 

"Ruy  Bias" 

X 

13.160 

u 

3 

"  Le  Manage  de  Victorine  " 
"  Les  Fourberies  de  Scapi  " 

10.165 

11 

4 

"  Les  Femmes  Savantes;  " 
"  L'Etincelle  " 

11.960 

(( 

5 

"Les  Fourchambault " 

10.700 

(( 

5 

(Matin6e) 

"PhMre;" 

"La  Joie  Fait  Peur" 

X 

14.265 

u 

7 

"Le  Marquis  de  Ville-mer" 

10.565 

u 

8 

"L'ami  Fritz" 

11.005 

(( 

9 

• 

"Hernani" 

X 

14  275 

u 

10 

"Le  Sphinx" 

X 

13.775 

(( 

11 

"Philiberte" 
"L'Etourdi" 

11.500 

u 

12 

"Ruy  Bias" 

X 

12.660 

u 

12 

(Matinee) 

"Gringoire" 
"Hernani,"  Acte  V 
"La  Benediction" 
"Davenant" 

"L'Etincelle" 

X 

13.725 

Total  receipts  in  francs 

.492.150 

The  average  of  the  receipts  was  about  11,715  francs.  These 
figures  show  that  out  of  the  forty -three  performances  given  by 
the  Comedie  Francaise,  the  eighteen  performances  in  which  I 
took  part  gave  an  average  of  13,350  francs  each;  while  the 
twenty-five  other  performances  gave  an  average  of  10,000  francs. 

While  I  was  in  London  I  learned  that  I  had  lost  my  lawsuit, 
with   its  ...  "  Inasmuch    as  "  .  .  .  "  Nevertheless  "...  etc. 

351 


MEMORIES    OF    MY    TJFE 

..."  declares  hereby  that  MUe.  Sarah  Bernhardt  loses  all  the 
rights,  privileges,  and  advantages  resulting  to  her  profit,  from 
the  engagement  whieh  she  contracted  with  the  company,  by 
authentic  decree  of  the  24th  March,  1875,  which  condemns  her 
to  pay  to  the  plaintiff  in  his  lawful  quality,  the  sum  of  100,000 
francs  damages.  ..." 

I  gave  my  last  performance  in  London  the  very  day  that 
the  papers  published  the  result  of  this  unjust  verdict.  I  was 
applauded  and  the  public  overwhelmed  me  with  flowers. 

I  had  taken  with  me,  as  artistes,  Mme,  Devoyod,  Mary  Jul- 
lien,  Kalb,  my  sister  Jeanne,  Pierre  Berton,  Train,  Talbot,  Dieu- 
donne — all  (uiistes  of  worth.  I  played  all  the  i)ieces  which  I 
was  to  play  in  America. 

Vitu,  Sareey,  and  Lapommeraye  had  said  so  much  against 
me  that  I  was  stupefied  to  learn  from  Mayer  that  they  had 
arrived  in  London  to  be  present  at  my  performances.  I  did  not 
understand  it  at  all.  I  thought  that  the  Parisian  journalists 
were  leaving  me  in  peace  at  last,  and  here  were  my  worst 
enemies  coming  across  the  sea  to  see  and  hear  me.  Perhaps  they 
were  hoping,  like  the  Englishman  who  followed  the  lion-tamer, 
to  see  him  devoured  by  his  lions. 

Vitu,  in  the  Figaro,  had  finished  one  of  his  bitter  articles 
in  these  words: 

"  But  we  have  heard  enough  surely,  of  Mile.  Sarah  Bern- 
hardt ! 

Let  her  go  abroad  with  her  monotonous  voice  and  her  funereal  fantasies ! 
Here,  we  have  nothing  new  to  learn  from  her  talents  or  her  caprices  ..." 

Sareey,  in  an  equally  bitter  article,  apropos  of  my  resigna- 
tion at  the  Comedie,  finished  with  these  words : 

"...  There  comes  a  time  when  naughty  children  must  go  to 
bed  .  .  ." 

As  to  the  amiable  Lapommeraye,  he  had  showered  on  ray 
devoted  head  all  the  rumors  that  he  had  collected  from  all  sides. 

352 


THE    CELEBRATED    PORTRAIT    OF    SARAH    BERNHARDT,    PAINTED 
BY   JULES   BASTIEN-LEPAGE, 


I    AGAIN    LEAVE    THE    COMEDIE    FRANgAISE 

But  as  they  said  he  had  no  originality,  he  tried  to  show  that  he 
also  could  dip  his  pen  in  venom  and  he  had  cried:  "  Pleasant 
journey !  ' '  And  here  they  all  came,  these  three,  and  others 
with  them.  .  .  .  And  the  day  following  my  first  performance 
of  "  Adrienne  Lecouvreur,"  Auguste  Vitu  telegraphed  to  the 
Figaro  a  long  article,  in  which  he  criticised  me  in  certain  scenes, 
regretting  that  I  had  not  followed  the  example  of  Rachel,  whom 
I  had  never  seen.    And  he  finished  his  article  with  these  words : 

"  The  sincerity  of  my  admiration  cannot  be  doubted  when  I 
avow  that  in  the  fifth  act  Sarah  Bernhardt  rose  to  a  height  of 
dramatic  power,  to  a  force  of  expression  which  could  not  be 
surpassed.  She  played  the  long  and  cruel  scene  in  which  Ad- 
rienne, poisoned  by  the  Duchesse  de  Bouillon,  struggles  against 
death  in  her  fearful  agony,  not  only  with  immense  talent,  but 
with  a  science  of  art  which  up  to  the  present  she  has  never  re- 
vealed. If  the  Parisian  public  had  heard  ...  or  ever  hears, 
]\Ille.  Sarah  Bernhardt  cry  out  with  the  piercing  accent  which 
she  put  into  her  words  that  evening :  '  I  will  not  die,  I  will  not 
die!  '  it  would  weep  with  her." 

Sarcey  finished  an  admirable  critique  with  these  words: 
"  She  is  prodigious!  ..." 

And  Lapommeraye,  who  had  once  more  become  amiable, 
begged  me  to  go  back  to  the  Comedie  which  was  waiting  for  me, 
which  would  kill  the  fatted  calf  on  the  return  of  its  prodigal 
child. 

Sarcey,  in  his  article  in  the  Temps,  consecrated  five  columns 
of  praises  to  me  and  finished  his  article  with  these  words : 

"  Nothing — nothing  can  ever  take  the  place  of  this  last  act 
of  '  Adrienne  Lecouvreur  '  at  the  Comedie.    Ah,  she  should  have 
stayed  at  the  Comedie !    Yes,  I  come  back  to  my  litany !    I  can- 
not help  it !    We  shall  lose  as  much  as  she  will.    Yes,  I  know  that 
24  353 


MEMORIES    OF    MY    LIFE 

AVI'  can  say  .Mile  Dudlay  is  Ifft  to  us.     Oh,  .she  will  always  stay 
with  us!    I  c'uunot  help  sayinj;  it — What  a  i)i1y  !     What  a  pity!  " 

And  ('i<!:ht  (lays  aftor,  on  the  7th  .hiiic,  he  wiotf  in  his 
theatrical  chronicle,  on  the  first  pei-roi-inancc  of  "  Fi-oiil'i'ou  ": 

"  I  do  not  think  that  the  emotion  at  the  theater  has  ever  been 
so  profound.  There  are,  in  the  dramatic  art,  e.xceptional  times 
when  the  artistes  are  transported  out  of  themselves,  carried  above 
themselves  and  compelled  to  obey  this  inward  '  demon,'  (/ 
should  have  said  god,)  who  whispered  to  Cornell le  his  immortal 
verses. 

"  '  Well,'  said  I  to  Mile.  Sarah  Bernhardt,  after  the  play, 
'  this  is  an  evening  which  will  open  to  you,  if  you  wish,  the  doors 
of  the  Comedie-Frangaise !  '  '  Do  not  speak  of  it,'  said  she  to 
me !    We  will  not  speak  of  it.    But  what  a  pity  I    What  a  pity !  " 


354 


CHAPTER    XXIV 


PREPARATIONS   FOR    AMERICA 


'^'"'X^'l 


Froufrou  "  was  so  marked  that  it 
filled  the  void  left  by  Coquelin,  who,  after  hav- 
5li^'t^!>VJtl  ^"^  signed,  with  the  consent  of  Perrin,  with  Messrs. 
lS4-j_«i8.\Si  ]\layer  and  Hollingshead,  declared  that  he  could 
not  keep  his  engagements.  It  was  a  nasty  trick  of  Jarnac's 
by  which  Perrin  hoped  to  injure  my  London  performances, 
lie  had  previously  sent  Got  to  me  to  ask  officially  if  I  would 
not  come  back  to  the  Comedie.  He  said  I  should  be  per- 
mitted to  make  my  American  tour  and  that  everything  would 
be  arranged  on  my  return.  But  he  should  not  have  sent 
Got.  He  should  have  sent  Worms  or  Le  petit  pere  Fran- 
cliise — Delaunay.  The  one  might  have  persuaded  me  by  his 
affectionate  reasoning,  and  the  other  by  the  falsity  of  argu- 
ments presented  with  such  grace  that  it  would  have  been  difficult 
to  refuse. 

Got  declared  that  I  should  be  only  too  happy  to  come  back 
to  the  Comedie  on  my  return  from  America;  "  for  you  know," 
he  added,  "  you  know,  my  little  one,  that  you  will  die  in  that 
country.  And  if  you  come  back  you  will  perhaps  be  only  too 
glad  to  return  to  the  Comedie  Francaise,  for  you  will  be  in  a 
bad  state  of  health,  and  it  will  take  some  time  before  you  are 
right  again.  Believe  me,  sign,  and  it  is  not  we  who  will  benefit 
by  that,  but  you!  " 

"  I  thank  you,"  answered  I,  "  but  I  prefer  to  choose  my 
hospital  myself  on  my  return.  And  now  you  can  go  and  leave 
me  in  peace."    I  fancy  I  said:     "  Get  out!  " 

355 


MEMORIES    OF    M\     \ME 

'riiat  cvi'iiiii^'  lie  wiis  j)ros('nt  at  a  jx'rforinancc  of  "  Frou- 
frou "  and  came  to  my  drossing-room  and  said: 

"  You  had  better  sign,  believe  mo!  And  eoiiie  baek  to  eom- 
menee  with  '  J^'roufrou  '  !    I  will  promise  you  a  happy  return!  " 

I  refused  and  finislied  my  performances  in  London  wilhout 
('o(|Uelin. 

The  average  of  the  receipts  was  9,000  francs,  and  I  h-ft 
London  with  regret — I  who  had  left  it  with  so  much 
pleasure  the  first  time.  But  London  is  a  city  apart;  its  charm 
unveils  little  by  little.  The  first  impression  for  a  F^renchman 
or  woman  is  that  of  keen  sufTering,  of  mortal  ennui.  Those 
tall  houses  with  sash  windows  without  curtains;  those  ugly 
monuments,  all  in  mourning  with  the  dust  and  grime,  and  black 
with  greasy  dirt;  those  flower  sellers  at  the  corners  of  all  the 
streets  with  faces  sad  as  the  rain  and  bedraggled  feathers  in 
their  hats  and  lamentable  clothing ;  the  black  mud  of  the  streets ; 
the  low  sky;  the  funereal  mirth  of  drunken  women  hanging  on 
to  men  just  as  drunk;  the  wild  dancing  of  disheveled  children 
round  the  street  organs,  as  numerous  as  the  omnibuses — all  that 
caused,  twenty-five  years  ago,  an  indefinite  suffering  to  a 
Parisian.  But  little  by  little  one  finds  that  the  profusion  of 
the  squares  is  restful  to  the  eyes;  that  the  beauty  of  the  aristo- 
cratic ladies  effaces  the  image  of  the  flower  sellers. 

The  constant  movement  of  Hyde  Park,  and  especially  of 
Eotten  Row,  fills  the  heart  with  gayety.  The  broad  English 
hospitality  which  was  manifested  from  the  first  moment  of  mak- 
ing an  acquaintance ;  the  wit  of  the  men,  which  compares  favor- 
ably with  the  wit  of  Frenchmen;  and  their  gallantry,  "much 
more  respectful  and  therefore  much  more  flattering,  left  no  re- 
grets in  me  for  French  gallantry. 

But  I  prefer  our  pale  mud  to  the  London  black  mud ;  and 
our  windows  opening  in  the  centre  to  the  horrible  sash  windows. 
I  find  also  that  nothing  marks  more  clearly  the  difference  of 
character  of  the  two  nations  than  their  respective  windows. 
Ours  open  wade,  the  sun  enters  into  our  houses  even  to  the  heart 
of  the  dwelling,  the  air  sweeps  away  all  the  dust  and  all  the 
microbes.     They  shut  in  the  same  manner,  simply,  as  they  open. 

35G 


PREPARATIONS    FOR    AMERICA 

English  windows  open  only  halfway,  either  the  top  half  or 
the  bottom  half.  One  may  even  have  the  pleasure  of  opening 
them  a  little  at  the  top  and  a  little  at  the  bottom,  but  not  at 
all  in  the  middle.  The  sun  cannot  enter  openly,  nor  the  air. 
The  window  keeps  its  selfish  and  perfidious  character,  I  hate 
the  English  windows.  But  now  I  love  London,  and — is  there 
any  need  to  add? — its  inhabitants.  Since  my  first  visit  I  have 
returned  there  twenty-one  times,  and  the  public  has  always  re- 
mained faithful  and  affectionate. 

After  this  first  test  of  my  freedom,  I  felt  more  sure  of  life 
than  before.  Although  I  was  very  weakly  of  constitution,  the 
possibility  of  doing  as  I  wanted  without  let  or  hindrance  and 
without  control,  calmed  my  nerves;  and  with  a  strengthened 
nervous  system,  my  health,  which  had  been  weakened  by  per- 
petual irritations  and  by  excessive  work,  recovered  its  tone.  I 
reposed  on  the  laurels  which  I  had  gathered  myself — and  I 
slept  better.  Sleeping  better  I  commenced  to  eat  better.  And 
great  was  the  astonishment  of  my  little  court  when  they  saw 
their  idol  come  back  from  London  round  and  rosy. 

I  remained  several  days  in  Paris,  then  I  set  out  for  Brus- 
sels, where  I  was  to  play  "  Adrienne  Lecouvreur  "  and  ''  Frou- 
frou." 

The  Belgian  public — by  which  I  mean  the  Brussels  public — 
is  the  most  like  our  own.  In  Belgium  I  never  feel  that  I  am 
in  a  strange  country.  Our  language  is  the  language  of  the 
country;  the  horses  and  carriages  are  always  in  perfect  taste; 
the  fashionable  women  resemble  our  own  fashionable  women; 
cocottes  abound;  the  hotels  are  as  good  as  in  Paris;  the  cab 
horses  are  as  poor;  the  newspapers  are  as  spiteful.  Brussels  is 
gossiping  Paris  in  miniature. 

I  played,  for  the  first  time,  at  the  Monnaie  and  I  felt  un- 
comfortable in  this  immense  and  frigid  theater.  But  the  benev- 
olent enthusiasm  of  the  public  soon  warmed  me  and  I  shall 
never  forget  the  four  evenings  I  gave  there. 

Then  I  set  out  for  Copenhagen,  where  I  was  to  give  five  per- 
formances at  the  Theater  Royal. 

Our  arrival,  which  was  anxiously  expected,  doubtless,  really 

357 


MEiMORIES    OF    MV    LI  IK 

frightened  me.  More  ihnu  two  thousjind  persons  who  wero  as- 
sembled in  the  station  when  the  train  came  in,  gave  a  hurrah  so 
terrible  that  I  did  not  know  what  was  happening.  But  when  M. 
De  Fallesen,  manager  of  the  Theater  Royal,  and  the  first  cham- 
berlain of  the  king,  entered  my  compartment  and  begged  me  to 
show  mj^self  at  the  window  to  gratify  the  curiosity  of  the  public, 
the  hurrahs  began  again,  and  then  I  understood.  But  a  dreadful 
anxiety  now  took  possession  of  me.  I  could  never,  I  was  sure, 
rise  to  what  was  expected  from  me.  My  slender  frame  would 
inspire  disdain  in  those  magnificent  men  and  those  splendid 
and  healthy  women.  I  stepped  out  of  the  train  so  diminished 
by  comparison  that  I  had  the  sensation  of  being  nothing  more 
than  a  breath  of  air;  and  I  saw  the  crowd,  submissive  to  the 
police,  divide  into  two  compact  lines,  leaving  a  large  way  for 
my  carriage,  I  passed  slowly  through  this  double  hedge  of 
sympathetic  sightseers,  who  threw  me  flowers  and  kisses  and 
lifted  their  hats  to  me.  I  have  had  afterwards,  in  the  course 
of  my  long  career,  many  triumphs,  receptions  and  ovations; 
but  my  reception  by  the  Danish  people  remains  one  of  my  most 
cherished  souvenirs.  The  living  hedge  lasted  till  we  reached 
the  Hotel  d  'Angleterre  where  I  went  in,  after  once  more  thank- 
ing the  sympathetic  friends  who  surrounded  me. 

In  the  evening,  the  King  and  jQueen  and  their  daughter,  the 
Princess  of  Wales,  were  present  at  the  first  performance  of 
"  Adrienne  Lecouvreur. " 

This  is  what  the  Figaro  of  the  16th  August,  1880,  said: 

"  Sarah  Bernhardt  has  played  '  Adrienne  Lecouvreur  '  with 
a  tremendous  success  before  a  magnificent  public.  The  royal 
family,  the  King  and  the  Queen  of  the  Hellenes,  as  well  as  the 
Princess  of  Wales,  were  present  at  the  performance.  The  Queens 
threw  their  bouquets  to  the  French  artiste,  midst  applause.  It 
was  an  unprecedented  triumph.  The  public  was  delirious.  To- 
morrow '  Froufrou  '  will  be  played." 

The  performances  of  "  Froufrou  "  were  equally  successful. 
But  as  I  was  playing  only  every  other  day  I  wanted  to  visit 

358 


PREPARATIONS    FOR    AMERICA 

Elsinore.  The  King  placed  the  royal  steamer  at  my  disposal  for 
this  little  journey. 

I  had  invited  all  my  company. 

M.  De  Fallesen,  the  first  chamberlain  and  manager  of  the 
Theater  Royal,  caused  a  magnificent  lunch  to  be  served  for  us, 
and  accompanied  by  the  principal  notabilities  of  Denmark  we 
visited  Hamlet's  tomb,  the  Spring  of  Ophelia,  and  the  Castle 
of  Marienlyst.  Then  we  went  over  the  Castle  of  Cronburg. 
I  regretted  my  visit  to  Elsinore.  The  reality  did  not  come  up 
to  the  expectation.  The  so-called  Tomb  of  Hamlet  is  rep- 
resented by  a  small  column,  ugly  and  mournful  looking;  there 
is  little  verdure  and  the  desolate  sadness  of  deceit  without 
beauty.  They  gave  me  a  little  water  from  the  Spring  of  Ophe- 
lia to  drink  and  the  Baron  de  Fallesen  broke  the  glass  without 
allowing  anyone  else  to  drink  from  the  spring. 

I  returned  from  this  very  ordinary  journey  feeling  rather 
sad.  Leaning  against  the  side  of  the  vessel  I  watched  the  water 
gliding  past,  when  I  noticed  a  few  rose  petals  emerge,  which 
carried  by  an  invisible  current  were  borne  against  the  sides  of 
the  boat;  then  the  petals  increased  to  thousands  and  in  the 
mysterious  sunset  rose  the  melodious  chant  of  the  sons  of  the 
North.  I  looked  up.  In  front  of  us,  rocked  on  the  water  by 
the  evening  breeze,  was  a  pretty  boat  with  outspread  sails :  a 
score  of  young  men,  throwing  handfuls  of  roses  into  the  waters, 
which  were  carried  to  us  by  the  little  wavelets,  were  singing 
the  marvelous  legends  of  past  centuries.  And  all  that  was 
for  me :  all  those  roses,  all  that  love,  all  that  musical  poetry. 
And  the  setting  sun — it  was  also  for  me.  And  in  this  fleeting 
moment  which  brought  near  me  all  the  beauty  of  life,  I  felt 
myself  very  near  to  God. 

The  following  day,  at  the  close  of  the  performance,  the 
King  had  called  me  before  him  into  the  royal  box  and  he  dec- 
orated me  with  a  very  pretty  Order  of  Merit  adorned  with  dia- 
monds. He  kept  me  some  time  in  his  box  asking  me  about  a 
lot  of  things.  I  was  presented  to  the  Queen  and  I  noticed  im- 
mediately that  she  was  somewhat  deaf.  I  was  rather  em- 
barrassed, but  the  Queen  of  Greece  came  to  my  rescue.     She 

359 


MEMORIES    f)F    MV    EIFE 

was  beautiful,  but  much  ]ess  so  than  her  lovely  sister,  the  Prin- 
cess of  Wales.  Oh,  that  adorable  and  seductive  face!  with 
the  eyes  of  a  child  of  the  North  and  classic  features  of  virgiucil 
purity,  a  long  supple  neck  that  seemed  made  for  (jueenly  bows, 
a  sweet  and  almost  timid  smile.  The  indefinable  charm  of  this 
])rincess  made  her  so  radiant  that  I  saw  nothing,'  but  her,  and  I 
left  the  box  leaving  behind  me,  I  fear,  but  a  doubtful  opinion 
of  my  intelligence  with  the  royal  couples  of  Denmark  and 
Greece, 

The  evening  before  my  departure  I  was  invited  to  a  grand 
supper.  Fallesen  made  a  speech,  and  thanked  us  in  a  very  well- 
turned  manner  for  the  French  week  which  we  had  given  in 
Denmark. 

Robert  "Walt  made  a  very  cordial  speech  on  behalf  of  the 
Press,  very  short  but  very  sympathetic.  Our  ambassador,  in  a 
few  courteous  words,  thanked  Robert  Walt,  and  then  to  the 
general  surprise.  Baron  Magnus,  the  Prussian  ^Minister,  rose, 
and  in  a  loud  voice,  turning  to  me,  he  said :  "I  drink  to 
France,  which  gives  us  such  great  artistes !  to  France, '  la  helle 
France,  whom  we  all  love  so  much!  " 

Hardly  ten  years  had  passed  since  the  terrible  war.  French 
men  and  women  were  still  suffering;  their  wounds  were  not 
healed. 

Baron  Magnus,  a  really  amiable  and  charming  man,  had, 
from  the  time  of  my  arrival  in  Copenhagen,  sent  me  flowers 
with  his  card.  I  had  sent  back  the  flowers  and  begged  an  at- 
tache of  the  English  Embassy,  Sir  Francis,  I  believe,  to  ask 
the  German  baron  not  to  renew  his  gifts.  The  baron  laughed 
good-naturedly  and  waited  for  me  as  I  came  out  of  my  hotel. 
He  came  to  me  with  outstretched  hands  and  spoke  kindly  and 
reasonable  words.  Everybody  was  looking  at  us  and  I  was 
embarrassed.  It  was  evident  that  he  was  a  kind  man.  I 
thanked  him,  touched  in  spite  of  myself,  by  his  frankness,  and 
I  went  away  quite  undecided  as  to  what  I  really  felt.  Twice 
he  renewed  his  visit,  but  I  did  not  receive  him,  but  only  bowed 
as  I  left  my  hotel.  I  was  somewhat  irritated  at  the  tenacity 
of  this  amiable   diplomatist.     On  the  evening  of  the  supper, 

360 


PREPARATIONS    FOR    AMERICA 

when  I  saw  liini  take  the  attitude  of  an  orator,  I  felt  myself 
grow  pale.  He  had  barely  finished  his  little  speech,  when  I 
jumped  to  my  feet  and  cried:  "  Let  us  drink  to  France — but 
to  the  whole  of  France,  Monsieur  I'Enibassadeur  de  Prussel  " 
I  was  nervous,  sensational,  and  theatrical,  without  intending  it. 

It  was  like  a  bolt  from  the  blue. 

The  orchestra  of  the  court  which  was  placed  in  the  upper 
gallery  began  playing  the  "  Marseillaise."  At  this  time  the 
Danes  hated  the  Germans.  The  supper  room  was  suddenly  de- 
serted as  if  by  enchantment. 

I  went  up  to  my  rooms  not  wishing  to  be  questioned,  I  had 
gone  too  far.  Anger  had  made  me  say  more  than  I  intended. 
Baron  Magnus  did  not  deserve  this  tirade.  And  also  my  in- 
stinct forewarned  me  of  results  to  follow.  I  went  to  bed  angry 
with  myself,  with  the  baron,  and  with  all  the  world. 

About  five  o'clock  in  the  morning  I  commenced  to  doze, 
w^hen  I  was  awakened  by  the  growling  of  my  dog.  Then  I 
heard  some  one  knocking  at  the  door  of  the  salon.  I  called  my 
maid,  who  woke  her  husband,  and  he  went  to  open  the  door. 
An  attache  from  the  French  Embassy  was  waiting  to  speak  to 
me  on  urgent  biisiness.  I  put  on  an  ermine  tea  gown  and  went 
to  see  the  visitor. 

"  I  beg  you,"  he  said,  "  to  write  a  note  immediately,  to  ex- 
plain that  the  words  you  said  were  not  meant.  .  .  .  The  Baron 
Magnus,  whom  we  all  respect,  is  in  a  very  awkward  situation 
and  we  are  all  unhappy  about  it.  Prince  Bismarck  is  not  to  be 
trifled  with  and  it  may  be  very  serious  for  the  baron." 

''Oh!  I  assure  you,  monsieur,  I  am  a  hundredfold  more 
unhappy  about  it  than  you,  for  the  baron  is  a  good  and  charm- 
ing man ;  he  is  short  of  political  tact,  and  in  this  case  it  is  ex- 
cusable because  I  am  not  a  woman  of  politics.  I  was  lacking  in 
coolness.     I  would  give  my  right  hand  to  repair  the  ill." 

"  We  don't  ask  you  for  so  much  as  that.  And  that  would 
spoil  the  beauty  of  your  gestures!  "  (He  was  French,  you  see). 
' '  Here  is  the  rough  copy  of  a  letter ;  will  you  take  it,  rewrite  it, 
sign  it  and  everything  will  be  at  an  end." 

But  that  was  unacceptable.     The  wording  of  this  letter  gave 

361 


MEMORIES    OF    MV    LIFE 

twisted  ;in(l  i-atlicr  cowardly  ('Xi)laiiatif)iis.  I  rejected  it  and 
after  several  ;il1eiiipts  to  rewrite  it,  1  f,'avo  up  in  d<'s[)air  and 
did  nothinj;. 

Three  hundred  persons  had  been  present  at  the  supper,  in 
addition  to  the  royal  orchestra  and  the  attendants.  p]verybody 
had  heard  the  amiable  but  awkward  speech  of  the  baron.  I  had 
replied  in  a  very  excited  manner.  The  public  and  the  Press 
had  all  been  witnesses  of  my  tirade;  we  were  the  victinLS  of  our 
own  foolishness,  the  baron  and  myself.  If  such  a  thing  were  to 
happen  at  the  present  time  I  should  not  care  a  pin  for  public 
opinion,  and  I  should  even  take  pleasure  in  ridiculing  myself  in 
order  to  do  justice  to  a  brave  and  gallant  man.  But  at  that 
time  I  was  very  nervous,  and  uncompromisingly  patriotic.  And 
also,  perhaps,  I  thought  I  was  some  one  of  importance.  Since 
then  life  has  taught  me  that  if  one  has  to  be  famous  it  can  only 
be  after  Death  has  set  his  seal  to  life.  To-day  I  am  going  down 
the  hill  of  life  and  I  regard  gaily  all  the  pedestals  on  which 
I  have  been  lifted  up,  and  there  have  been  so  many  of  them 
that  their  fragments,  broken  by  the  same  hands  that  had  raised 
them,  have  made  me  a  solid  pillar,  from  which  I  look  out  on 
life,  happy  with  the  past  and  expectant  of  the  future. 

]\Iy  stupid  vanity  had  wounded  one  who  meant  me  well,  and 
this  incident  has  always  left  in  me  a  feeling  of  remorse  and 
chagrin. 

I  left  Copenhagen  in  the  midst  of  applause  and  repeated 
cries  of  Vive  la  France !  From  all  the  windows  hung  the 
French  flag,  fluttering  in  the  breeze,  and  I  felt  that  this  was  not 
only  for  me,  but  against  Germany — I  was  sure  of  it. 

Since  then  the  Germans  and  the  Danes  are  solidly  united 
and  I  am  not  certain  that  several  Danes  do  not  still  bear  me 
malice  because  of  this  incident  of  the  Baron  INIagnus. 

I  came  back  to  Paris  to  make  my  final  preparations  for  my 
journey  to  America.     I  was  to  set  sail  the  15th  of  October. 

One  day  in  August,  I  was  having  a  reception  of  all  my 
friends,  who  came  to  see  me  in  full  force  because  I  was  about 
to  set  out  for  a  long  journey. 

Among  the  number  were  Girardin,  Count  Kapenist,  Marshal 

363 


PREPARATIONS    FOR    AMERICA 

Canrobert,  Georges  Clairin,  Arthur  Meyer,  Duquesnel,  the 
beautiful  Augusta  Hobiies,  Raymond  de  Montbel,  Nordensky- 
jold,  0  'Connor,  and  other  friends.  I  chatted  gaily,  happy  to  be 
surrounded  by  so  many  tender  and  intellectual  friends.  Girar- 
din  did  all  he  could  to  persuade  me  not  to  undertake  this 
journey  to  America.  He  had  been  the  friend  of  Rachel  and 
told  me  the  sad  end  of  her  journey.  Arthur  Mayer  was  of 
opinion  that  I  ought  always  to  do  what  I  thought  best.  The 
other  friends  discussed  the  affair.  That  admirable  man,  whom 
France  will  always  worship,  Canrobert,  said  how  much  he 
should  miss  and  regret  these  intimate  causeries  at  our  five- 
o'clock  teas. 

"  But,"  said  he,  "  we  have  not  the  right  to  try,  in  our 
affectionate  selfishness,  to  hinder  our  young  friend  from  doing 
all  she  can  in  the  strife.     She  is  of  a  combative  nature." 

' '  Ah,  yes !  "  I  cried,  ' '  I  am  born  for  the  strife,  I  feel  it. 
Nothing  pleases  me  like  having  to  master  a  public — perhaps 
hostile — who  have  read  and  heard  all  that  the  Press  have  to  say 
against  me.  But  I  am  sorry  that  I  cannot  play,  not  only  in 
Paris,  but  in  all  France,  my  two  big  successes,  '  Adrienne  '  and 
'  Froufrou.'  " 

"  As  to  that,  you  can  count  on  me,"  cried  Felix  Duquesnel. 
"  My  dear  Sarah,  you  had  your  first  successes  with  me  and  it  is 
with  me  that  you  will  have  your  last." 

Everybody  exclaimed  and  I  jumped  up, 

' '  Why  wait, ' '  said  he,  * '  for  the  last  successes  until  you  come 
back  from  America?  If  you  will  consent  you  can  count  on 
me  for  everything.  I  will  obtain,  at  any  price,  theaters  in  all 
the  large  towns  and  we  will  give  twenty-five  performances  dur- 
ing the  month  of  September.  As  to  the  money  conditions, 
they  will  be  of  the  simplest:  twenty-five  performances — 50,000 
francs.  To-morrow  I  will  give  you  the  half  of  this  sum  and 
you  shall  sign  the  contract,  so  that  you  will  not  have  time  to 
change  your  mind," 

I  clapped  my  hands  joyfully.  All  the  friends  who  were 
there  begged  Duquesnel  to  send  them,  as  soon  as  possible,  a  plan 
of  the  tour,  for  they  all  wanted  to  see  me  in  the  two  plays  in 

363 


MEMOIUKS    OF    IVIV    LIFE 

wliicli  I  had  ciifi'icd  olT  llif  laiirols  in  Eii<;liiii(l  and  Belgium 
iiiid  Doinnark. 

DuiiucsncI  i>rf)iiiisc'd  to  send  llicin  the  ilctails  of  the  tour,  jiiid 
it  was  settled  lliat  Iheir  visits  would  be  drawn  by  lot  from  a 
little  bag  and  each  town  marked  with  the  date  and  the  name 
of  the  play. 

A  week  later,  Duquesnel,  with  whom  I  had  signed  the  con- 
traet,  returned  with  the  entire  tour  j)lanned  out  and  all  the 
company  engaged.     It  w'as  almost  miraculou>s. 

The  performances  were  to  commence  on  Saturday  the  4th 
of  September,  and  there  were  to  be  twenty-five  of  them ;  and 
the  whole,  including  the  day  of  departure  and  the  day  of  return, 
was  to  last  twenty-eight  days,  which  caused  this  tour  to  be 
called  "  The  twenty-eight  days  of  Sarah  Bernhardt,"  like  the 
twenty-eight  days  of  a  citizen  who  is  obliged  to  undertake  his 
military  service. 

The  little  tour  was  most  successful,  and  I  never  enjoyed  my- 
self more  than  in  this  artistic  promenade.  Duquesnel  organized 
excursions  and  fetes  outside  the  tow^ns. 

At  first  he  had  prepared,  thinking  to  please  me,  some  visits 
to  the  sights  of  the  towns.  He  had  written  beforehand  from 
Paris  fixing  dates  and  hours.  The  guardians  of  the  different 
museums,  art  galleries,  etc.,  had  offered  to  point  out  to  me  the 
finest  objects  in  their  collections  and  the  mayors  had  prepared 
the  visits  to  the  churches  and  celebrated  buildings. 

When,  on  the  eve  of  our  departure,  he  showed  us  the  heap 
of  letters,  each  giving  a  most  amiable  affirmative,  I  shrieked. 
I  hate  seeing  public  buildings,  and  having  them  explained  to 
me.  I  know  most  of  the  public  sights  of  France,  but  I  have 
visited  them  w^hen  I  felt  inclined  and  with  my  own  chosen 
friends.  As  to  the  churches  and  other  buildings,  I  find  them 
very  tiresome.  I  cannot  help  it — it  really  wearies  me  to  see 
them.  I  can  admire  their  outline  in  passing,  or  when  I  see 
them  silhouetted  against  the  setting  sun,  that  is  all  right,  but 
further  than  that  I  will  not  go.  The  idea  of  entering  these 
cold  spaces,  w'hile  some  one  explains  their  absurd  and  inter- 
minable history,  of  looking  up  at  their  ceilings  with  craning 

364 


PREPARATIONS    FOR    AMERICA 

neck,  of  cramping  my  feet  by  walking  unnaturally  over  highly 
waxed  floors,  of  being  obliged  to  admire  the  restoration  of  the 
left  wing,  (that  they  would  have  done  better  by  letting  crumble 
to  ruins,)  to  have  to  wonder  at  the  depth  of  some  moat  which 
once  used  to  be  full  of  water  but  is  now  dry  as  the  east  wind 
...  all  that  is  so  tiresome  it  makes  me  want  to  howl.  From 
my  earliest  childhood  I  have  always  detested  houses,  castles, 
churches,  towers,  and  all  buildings  higher  than  a  mill.  I  love 
low  buildings,  farms,  huts,  and  I  positively  adore  mills,  because 
these  little  buildings  do  not  obstruct  the  horizon.  I  have  noth- 
ing to  say  against  the  Pyramids,  but  I  would  a  hundred  times 
rather  they  had  never  been  built. 

I  begged  Duquesnel  to  send  telegrams  at  once  to  all  the 
notabilities  who  had  been  so  obliging.  We  passed  two  hours 
over  this  task  and  the  3rd  of  September  I  set  out,  free,  joyful, 
and  content. 

My  friends  came  to  see  me  while  I  was  on  tour,  in  accord- 
ance with  the  lots  they  had  drawn,  and  we  had  picnics  by  coach 
into  the  surrounding  country  in  all  the  towns  in  which  I  played. 

I  came  back  to  Paris  on  the  30th  of  September,  and  had 
only  just  time  to  prepare  for  my  journey  to  America.  I  had 
been  only  a  week  at  Paris  when  I  had  a  visit  from  M.  Bertraud, 
who  was  then  director  of  the  Varietes.  His  brother  was  director 
of  the  Vaudeville  in  partnership  with  Raymond  Deslandes.  I 
did  not  know  Eugene  Bertrand,  but  I  received  him  at  once, 
for  we  had  mutual  friends. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  when  you  come  back  from 
America ?  "he  asked  me,  after  we  had  exchanged  greetings. 

"  I  really  don't  know.  .  .  .  Nothing.  I  have  not  thought  of 
anything. ' ' 

"  Well,  I  have  thought  of  something  for  you.  And  if  you 
like  to  make  your  return  to  Paris  in  a  play  of  Victorien  Sar- 
dou's,  I  will  sign  with  you  at  once  for  the  Vaudeville." 

"  Ah!  "  I  cried.  "  The  Vaudeville!  What  are  you  think- 
ing of?  Raymond  Deslandes  is  the  manager  and  he  hates  me 
like  poison  because  I  ran  away  from  the  Gymnase  the  day  fol- 
lowing the  first  performance  of  his  play :    '  Un  Mari  ({ui  Lance 

365 


MEiMORIES    OF    MY    LIFE 

sa  Feniiuc. '  Jlis  play  was  ridiculous,  and  I  was  r-vfii  more 
ridiculous  thau  his  play  in  the  part  of  a  young  Russian  lady 
addicted  to  dancinj?  and  eating  sandwiches.  That  man  will 
never  engage  me !  " 

He  smiled.  "  My  brother  is  the  partner  of  Raymond  Des- 
landes.  My  brother  ...  to  put  it  plainly,  is  myself.  All  the 
money  brought  by  us  is  mine !  I  am  the  sole  master !  What  do 
you  want  to  earn?  " 

"  But  .  .  .?     I  really  don't  know." 

**  Will  fifteen  hundred  francs  per  performance  suit  you?  '* 

I  looked  at  him  in  stupefaction,  not  quite  sure  if  he  was  in 
his  right  mind. 

"  But,  monsieur,  if  I  do  not  succeed  you  will  lose  money, 
and  I  cannot  agree  to  that. ' ' 

"  Do  not  be  afraid,"  he  said.  "  I  can  as.sure  you  it  will 
be  a  success — a  colossal  success.  Will  you  sign?  And  I  will 
also  guarantee  you  fifty  performances!  " 

"  Oh,  no,  never!  I  will  sign  willingly,  for  I  admire  the 
talent  of  Victorien  Sardou,  but  I  do  not  want  any  guarantee. 
Success  will  depend  on  Victorien  Sardou,  and  after  him  on  me. 
So  I  sign  and  thank  you  for  your  confidence. ' ' 

At  my  afternoon  teas  I  showed  the  new  contract  to  my 
friends,  and  they  were  all  of  opinion  that  luck  was  on  my  side 
in  the  matter  of  my  resignation. 

Only  three  days  remained  to  me  in  Paris.  My  heart  was 
sore  at  the  idea  of  leaving  France,  for  many  sorrowful  reasons 
.  .  .  But  in  these  memoirs  I  have  put  to  one  side  all  that  touches 
the  inner  part  of  my  life.  There  is  one  "  I  "  which  lives  an- 
other life,  and  whose  sensations,  sorrows,  joys,  and  griefs  are 
born  and  die  for  a  very  small  number  of  hearts. 

But  I  felt  the  need  of  another  atmosphere,  of  vaster  space, 
of  other  skies. 

I  left  my  little  boy  with  my  uncle  who  had  five  boys  of  his 
own.  His  wife  was  a  rigid  Protestant,  but  kind,  and  my  cousin 
Louise,  their  eldest  daughter,  was  witty  and  highly  intelligent. 
She  promised  me  to  be  on  the  lookout  and  to  let  me  know  at 
once  if  there  was  anything  I  ought  to  know. 

366 


BUST   OF   VICTORIEN   SARDOU,    BY    SARAH   BERNPIARDT. 


PREPARATIONS    FOR    AMERICA 

Up  to  the  last  moment,  people  in  Paris  did  not  believe  that 
I  would  really  go.  I  had  such  uncertain  health  that  it  seemed 
folly  to  undertake  such  a  journey.  But  when  it  was  quite 
certain  that  I  was  going,  there  was  a  general  outburst  from  my 
enemies  and  the  hue  and  cry  after  me  was  in  full  swing.  I  have 
now  under  my  eyes  the  specimens  of  insanity,  calumnies,  lies, 
and  stupidities,  burlesque  portraits,  doleful  pleasantries,  good- 
bys  to  the  darling,  the  idol,  the  star,  the  zimm !  boum !  bourn ! 
etc.,  etc.  ...  It  was  all  so  absolutely  idiotic  that  I  was  con- 
founded. I  had  not  read  the  greater  part  of  these  articles,  but 
my  secretary  had  orders  to  cut  them  out  and  paste  them  in 
little  notebooks,  whether  favorable  or  unfavorable.  It  was  my 
godfather  who  had  commenced  doing  this  when  I  entered  the 
Conservatoire  and  after  his  death  I  had  it  continued. 

Happily  I  find,  in  these  thousands  of  lines,  fine  and  noble 
words — words  written  by  J.  J.  Weiss,  Zola,  Emile  de  Girardin, 
Jules  Valles,  Jules  Lemaitre,  etc. ;  and  beautiful  verses  full  of 
grace  and  justice,  signed  Victor  Hugo,  Francois  Coppee,  Riche- 
min,  Haroucourt,  Henri  de  Bornier,  Catulle  Mendes,  Parodi, 
and  later  Edmond  Rostand. 

I  neither  could  nor  would  suffer  unduly  from  the  calumnies 
and  lies;  but  I  confess  that  the  kindly  appreciation  and  praises 
accorded  me  by  the  superior  spirits  afforded  me  infinite  joy. 


367 


CHAPTER    XXV 

MY   ARRIVAL   IN   AMERICA 

|TIE  ship  which  was  to  take  me  away  to  other  hopes, 
other  sensations,  and  other  successes  was  named 
L'Amerique.  It  was  the  unlucky  boat,  the  boat 
that  was  haunted  by  the  Gnome.  All  kinds  of  mis- 
fortunes, accidents,  and  storms  had  been  its  lot.  It  had  been 
stranded  for  months  w^ith  its  keel  out  of  water.  Its  stern  had 
been  staved  in  by  an  Iceland  boat  and  it  had  foundered  on  the 
shoals  of  Newfoundland,  I  believe,  and  been  set  afloat  again. 
Another  time  fire  had  broken  out  on  it  right  in  the  Havre  road- 
stead, but  no  great  damage  was  done,  and  the  poor  boat  had  had 
a  celebrated  adventure  which  had  made  it  ridiculous.  In  1876 
or  1877  a  new  pumping  system  was  adopted  and  although  this 
system  had  been  in  use  by  the  English  for  a  long  time  it  was 
quite  unknown  aboard  French  boats.  The  captain  very  wisely 
decided  to  have  these  pumps  worked  by  his  crew  so  that  in  case 
of  any  danger  the  men  would  be  ready  to  manipulate  them  easily. 
The  experiment  had  been  going  on  for  a  few  minutes  when  one 
of  the  men  came  to  inform  the  captain  that  the  hold  of  the  ship 
was  filling  with  water,  and  no  one  could  discover  the  cause  of  it. 
"  Go  on  pumping!  "  shouted  the  captain.  "  Hurry  up!  Pump 
away!  "  The  pumps  were  worked  frantically  and  the  result 
was  that  the  hold  filled  entirely,  and  the  captain  was  obliged  to 
abandon  the  ship  after  seeing  the  passengers  safely  off  in  the 
boats.  An  English  whaler  met  the  ship  two  days  after,  tried  the 
pumps  which  worked  admirably  but  in  the  contrary  way  to  that 
indicated  by  the  French  captain.    This  slight  error  cost  the  Com- 

368 


MY    ARRIVAL    IN    AMERICA 

pagnie  Transatlantique  £48,000  salvage  money,  and  when  they 
wanted  to  start  the  ship  again  and  passengers  refused  to  go 
by  it  they  offered  my  impresario,  M.  Abbey,  excellent  terms. 
He  accepted  them,  and  very  intelligent  he  was,  for  in  spite  of 
all  prognostications  the  boat  had  paid  her  tribute. 

I  had  hitherto  traveled  very  little  and  I  was  wild  with  de- 
light. 

On  the  15th  of  October,  1880,  at  six  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
I  entered  my  cabin.  It  was  a  large  one  and  hung  with 
light  red  rep  embroidered  with  my  initials.  What  a  pro- 
fusion of  the  letters  S.  B. !  Then  there  was  a  large  brass 
bedstead  brightly  polished,  and  flowers  everywhere.  Adjoining 
mine  was  a  very  comfortable  cabin  for  my  petite  dame,  and 
leading  out  of  that  was  one  for  my  maid  and  her  husband. 
All  the  other  persons  I  employed  were  at  the  other  end  of  the 
ship.  The  sky  was  misty,  and  the  sea  gray,  with  no  horizon. 
I  was  on  my  way  over  there,  beyond  that  mist  which  seemed 
to  unite  the  sky  and  the  water  in  a  mysterious  rampart.  The 
clearing  of  the  deck  for  the  departure  upset  everyone  and 
everything.  The  rumbling  of  the  machinery,  the  boatswain's 
call,  the  bell,  the  sobbing  and  the  laughter,  the  creaking  of  the 
ropes,  the  shrill  shouting  of  the  orders,  the  terror  of  those  who 
were  only  just  in  time  to  catch  the  boat,  the  ' '  Halloo !  ' ' 
"  Look  out!  "  of  the  men  who  were  pitching  the  packages  from 
the  port  into  the  hold,  the  sound  of  the  laughing  waves  breaking 
over  the  side  of  the  boat,  all  this  mingled  together  made  the 
most  frightful  uproar,  tiring  the  brain  so  that  its  own  sensa- 
tions were  all  vague  and  bewildered.  I  was  one  of  those  w^ho, 
up  to  the  last  moment  enjoyed  the  "  Good-bys, "  the  hand- 
shakings, the  plans  about  the  return,  and  the  farewell  kisses, 
and  when  it  was  all  over  flung  themselves  sobbing  on  their 
bed. 

For  the  next  three  days  I  was  in  utter  despair,  weeping 
bitter  tears,  tears  that  scalded  my  cheeks.  Then  I  began  to 
get  calm  again,  my  will  power  triumphed  over  my  grief.  On 
the  fourth  day  I  dressed  at  seven  o'clock  and  went  on  deck  to 
have  some  fresh  air  .It  was  icy  cold  and  as  I  walked  up  and 
25  8G9 


MEMORIES    OF    MV    TJFE 

down  I  mot  a  lady  dressed  in  black  with  a  sad,  rcsij^ned  face. 
The  sea  looked  gloomy  and  colorless  and  there  were  no  waves. 
Suddenly  a  wild  billow  dashed  so  violently  against  our  boat 
that  we  were  both  thrown  down.  I  immediately  clutched  hold 
of  the  leg  of  one  of  the  benchas,  but  the  unfortunate  lady  was 
flung  forward.  Springing  to  my  feet  with  a  bound  I  was  just 
in  time  to  seize  hold  of  the  skirt  of  her  dress,  and  with  the 
help  of  my  maid  and  a  sailor,  we  managed  to  prevent  the  poor 
woman  from  falling  head  first  down  the  staircase.  Very  much 
hurt,  though,  she  was,  and  a  trifle  confused ;  she  thanked  me  in 
such  a  gentle,  dreamy  voice  that  my  heart  began  to  beat  with 
emotion. 

"  You  might  have  been  killed,  madame, "  I  said,  "  down  that 
horrible  staircase. ' ' 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  with  a  sigh  of  regret,  "  but  it  was  not 
(rod's  will.  Are  you  not  Madame  Hessler?  "  she  continued, 
looking  earnestly  at  me. 

"  No,  madame,"  I  answered,  "  my  name  is  Sarah  Bern- 
hardt." 

She  stepped  back  and  drawing  herself  up,  her  face  very 
pale  and  her  brow's  knitted,  she  said  in  a  mournful  voice,  a  voice 
that  was  scarcely  audible:  "  I  am  the  widow  of  President 
Lincoln." 

I,  too,  stepped  back,  and  a  thrill  of  anguish  ran  through 
me,  for  I  had  just  done  this  unhappy  w^oman  the  only  service 
that  I  ought  not  to  have  done  her — I  had  saved  her  from  death. 
Her  husband  had  been  assassinated  by  an  actor.  Booth,  and  it 
was  an  actress  who  had  now  prevented  her  from  joining  her  be- 
loved husband.  I  went  back  again  to  my  cabin  and  stayed  there 
two  days,  for  I  had  not  the  courage  to  meet  that  woman  for 
whom  I  felt  such  sympathy,  and  to  whom  I  should  never  dare 
to  speak  again. 

On  the  22d  we  were  surprised  by  an  abominable  snow- 
storm. I  was  called  up  hurriedly  by  Captain  Jonclas.  I  threw 
on  a  long  ermine  cloak  and  went  on  to  the  bridge.  It  was 
perfectly  stupefying  and  at  the  same  time  fairy  like.  The 
heavy  flakes  met  each  other  with  a  hiss  in  their  mad  waltzing 

370 


MY    ARRIVAL    IN    AMERICA 

provoked  by  the  wind.  The  sky  was  suddenly  veiled  from  us 
by  all  this  whiteness  which  fell  round  us  in  avalanches,  com- 
pletely hiding  the  horizon.  I  was  facing  the  sea  and,  as  Cap- 
tain Jonclas  pointed  out  to  me,  we  could  not  see  a  hundred 
yards  in  front  of  us.  I  then  turned  round  and  saw  that  the 
boat  was  as  white  as  a  seagull ;  the  ropes,  the  cordage,  the  net- 
tings, the  portholes,  the  shrouds,  the  whalers,  the  deck,  the  sails, 
the  ladders,  the  funnels,  the  airholes — everything  was  white. 
The  sea  was  black  and  the  sky  was  black.  The  boat  alone  was 
white,  floating  along  in  this  immensity.  There  was  a  contest 
between  the  high  funnel,  sputtering  forth  with  difficulty  its 
smoke  through  the  wind  which  was  rushing  wildly  into  its  great 
mouth,  and  the  prolonged  shrieks  of  the  siren.  The  contrast 
was  so  extraordinary  between  the  virgin  whiteness  of  this  boat 
and  the  infernal  uproar  it  made  that  it  seemed  to  me  as  if  I 
had  before  me  an  angel  in  a  fit  of  hysterics. 

In  the  evening  of  that  strange  day  the  doctor  came  to  tell 
me  of  the  birth  of  a  child  among  the  immigrants,  in  whom  I 
was  deeply  ijiterested.  I  went  at  once  to  the  mother  and  did 
all  I  could  for  the  poor  little  creature  who  had  just  come  into 
the  world.  Oh,  the  dismal  moans  in  that  dismal  night  in  the 
midst  of  all  that  misery!  Oh,  that  first  strident  cry  of  the 
child  affirming  its  will  to  live  in  the  midst  of  all  these  suffer- 
ings, of  all  these  hardships,  and  of  all  these  hopes !  Everything 
was  there  mingled  together  in  that  human  medley — men,  women, 
children,  rags  and  preserves,  oranges  and  basins,  heads  of  hair 
and  bald  pates,  half-open  lips  of  young  girls  and  tightly  closed 
mouths  of  shrewish  women,  white  caps  and  red  handkerchiefs, 
hands  stretched  out  in  hope  and  fists  clenched  against  adver- 
sity. I  saw  revolvers  half  concealed  under  the  rags,  knives  in 
the  men's  belts.  A  sudden  roll  of  the  boat  showed  us  the  con- 
tents of  a  parcel  that  had  fallen  from  the  hands  of  a  rascally 
looking  fellow  with  a  very  decided  expression  on  his  face,  and 
a  hatchet  and  a  tomahawk  fell  to  the  ground.  One  of  the  sailors 
immediately  seized  the  two  weapons  to  take  them  to  the  purser. 
I  shall  never  forget  the  scrutinizing  glance  of  the  man.  He 
had  evidently  made  a  mental  note  of  the  features  of  the  sailor, 

371 


MEMORIES    OF    MY    LIFE 

and  I  ])r('iitli('(]  a  fervent  prayei-  that  the  two  nii{;ht  never  meet 
in  a  solitary  phiee. 

I  reniember  now  with  reiiif»rse  the  horril)le  disfrnst  that  took 
possession  of  me  when  tlie  doetor  lianded  the  ehihl  over  to  me 
to  wash.  That  dicty  little  red,  movin<j,  sticky  object  was  a 
human  bt'in.t;.  It  liad  a  soul  and  would  have  thoii<;lits.  I  felt 
(juite  sick  aud  I  could  never  again  look  at  that  child — althou|j:h 
I  was  afterwards  its  godmother — without  living  over  again 
that  first  impression.  When  the  young  mother  had  fallen 
asleep  I  wanted  to  go  back  to  my  cabin.  The  doctor  helped 
me,  but  the  sea  was  so  rough  that  we  could  scarcely  walk  at 
all  among  the  packages  and  inniiigrants.  Some  of  them  who 
were  crouching  on  the  floor  watched  us  silently  as  we  tottered 
and  stumbled  along  like  drunkards.  I  w'as  annoyed  at  being 
watched  by  those  malevolent,  mocking  eyes.  "  I  say,  doctor," 
one  of  the  men  called  out,  "  the  sea  water  gets  in  the  head  like 
wine.  You  and  your  lady  look  as  though  you  were  coming 
back  from  a  spree!  "  An  old  woman  clung  to  me  as  Ave  passed. 
"Oh,  madame!  "  she  said,  "shall  we  be  shipwrecked  with 
the  boats  rolling  like  this?  Oh,  God!  oh,  God!"  A  taU 
fellow  with  red  hair  and  beard  came  forward  and  laid  the 
poor  old  woman  down  again  gently.  "  You  can  sleep  in  peace, 
mother,"  he  said;  "  if  we  are  shipwrecked  I  swear  there  shall 
be  more,  saved  down  here  than  up  on  the  top."  He  then 
came  closer  to  me  and  continued  in  a  defiant  tone:  "  The  rich 
folks  .  .  .  first  class,  into  the  sea !  .  .  .  the  immigrants — sec- 
onds, in  the  boats !  "  As  he  uttered  these  words  I  heard  a  sly, 
stifled  laugh  from  everywhere,  in  front  of  me,  behind,  at  the 
side,  and  even  from  under  my  feet.  It  seemed  to  echo  in  the 
distance  like  the  laughing  behind  the  scenes  on  the  stage.  I 
drew  nearer  to  the  doctor  and  he  saw  that  I  was  uneasy. 

"  Nonsense,"  he  said,  laughing,  "  we  should  defend  our- 
selves. ' ' 

"  But  how  many  could  be  saved,"  I  asked,  "  in  case  we 
were  really  in  danger?  " 

"  Two  hundred — tw^o  hundred  and  fifty  at  the  most  with 
all  the  boats  out,  if  all  arrived  safely." 

372 


MY    ARRIVAL    IN    AMERICA 

"  B^^t  the  purser  told  me  that  there  were  seven  hundred 
and  sixty  immigrants,"  I  insisted,  "  and  there  are  only  a  hun- 
dred and  twenty  passengers.  How  many  do  you  reckon  are 
the  officers,  the  crew,  and  the  servants?  " 

"  A  hundred  and  seventy,"  the  doctor  answered. 

"  Then  there  are  a  thousand  and  fifty  on  board  and  you  can 
save  only  two  hundred  and  fifty?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Well,  then,  I  can  understand  the  hatred  of  these  immi- 
grants whom  you  take  on  board  like  cattle  and  treat  like  negroes. 
They  are  absolutely  certain  that  in  case  of  danger  they  would 
be  sacrificed." 

"  But  we  should  save  them  when  their  turn  came." 

I  glanced  with  horror  at  the  man  who  was  talking  to  me. 
He  looked  honest  and  straightforward  and  he  evidently  meant 
what  he  said.  And  so  all  these  poor  creatures  who  had  been 
disappointed  in  life,  and  badly  treated  by  society,  would  have 
no  right  to  life  until  after  we  were  saved,  we  the  more  favored 
ones !  Oh,  how  I  understood  now  the  rascally  looking  fellow, 
with  his  hatchet  and  tomahawk!  How  thoroughly  I  approved 
at  that  moment  of  the  revolvers  and  the  knives  hidden  in 
the  belts.  Yes,  he  was  quite  right,  the  tall,  red-haired  fel- 
low. We  want  the  first  places,  always  the  first  places  .  .  . 
and  so  yve  might  have  the  first  places!  Into  the  water  with 
us! 

"  Well,  are  you  satisfied?  "  asked  the  captain  who  was  just 
coming  out  of  his  cabin.     ' '  Has  it  gone  off  all  right  ? ' ' 

"  Yes,  captain,"  I  answered,  "  but  I  am  horrified." 

Jonclas  stepped  back  in  surprise.  .  .  . 

"  Good  heavens,  what  has  horrified  you?  "  he  asked. 

"  The  way  in  which  you  treat  your  passengers  ..." 

He  tried  to  put  in  a  word,  but  I  continued :  ' '  Why  .  .  . 
you  expose  us  in  case  of  a  shipwreck.  ..." 

"  We  never  have  a  shipwreck.  ..." 

"  Good  ...  in  case  of  a  fire,  then.  ..." 

"  Good  ...  in  case  of  submersion.  ..." 

"  We  never  have  a  fire.  ..." 

373 


mi:m()UII':s  of  m\   life 

"  I  ^'ivo  in."  ln'  said,  lau^'hinj^.  "  To  wliat  do  we  expose 
you,  inaclanio? 

**  To  the  very  worst  of  deaths  ...  to  ;i  blow  on  llic  head 
■with  an  ax,  to  a  dajij^er  thrust  in  our  \y,u-k,  or  merely  to  be 
tlung  into  the  water.  ..." 

He  attempted  to  speak,  but  a^'ain  I  continued:  "  There  are 
seven  hundred  and  fifty  innni^'rants  below  and  tiicrc  are  searct'iy 
three  hundred  of  us,  counting'  first-class  passengers  and  the 
crew.  .  .  .  You  have  boats  which  might  save  two  hundred  per- 
sons and  even  that  is  doubtful.  ..." 

"  Well?  " 

*'  Well,  what  about  the  immigrants?  " 

**  We  should  save  them  before  the  crew." 

**But  after  us?  " 

"  Yes,  after  you." 

"  And  you  fancy  that  they  would  let  you  do  it?  " 

**  We  have  guns  with  which  to  keep  them  in  order." 

**  Guns  .  .  .  guns  for  women  and  children." 

**  No  .  .  .  the  W'Omen  and  children  would  take  their  turn 
first." 

"  But  that  is  idiotic,"  I  exclaimed,  "  it  is  perfectly  absurd! 
Why  save  women  and  children  if  you  are  going  to  make  widows 
and  orphans  of  them?  And  do  you  believe  that  all  those  young 
men  would  resign  themselves  to  their  fate  because  of  your  guns? 
There  are  more  of  them  than  there  are  of  you,  and  they  are 
armed.  Life  owes  them  their  revenge,  and  they  have  the  same 
right  that  we  have  to  defend  the  supreme  moment.  They  have 
the  courage  of  those  who  have  nothing  to  lose  and  everything 
to  gain  in  the  struggle.  In  my  opinion  it  is  iniquitous  and  in- 
famous that  you  should  expose  us  to  certain  death  and  them  to 
an  obligatory  and  perfectly  justified  crime." 

The  captain  tried  to  speak,  but  again  I  persisted.  "  With- 
out going  as  far  as  a  shipwreck  only  fancy  if  we  were  to  be 
tossed  and  bandied  about  for  months  on  a  raging  sea.  This 
has  happened  and  might  happen  again.  .  .  .  You  cannot  pos- 
sibly have  food  enough  on  board  for  a  thousand  people  during 
two  or  three  months." 

374 


MY    ARRIVAL    IN    AMERICA 

"  No,  certainly  not,"  put  in  the  purser  dryly.  He  was  a 
very  amiable  man,  but  very  touchy. 

"  Well,  then,  what  should  you  do?  "  I  asked. 

"  What  would  you  do?  "  asked  the  captain,  highly  amused 
at  the  annoyed  expression  on  the  purser's  face. 

"  I  ...  oh!  I  should  have  a  boat  for  immigrants  and  a  boat 
for  passengers,  and  I  think  that  would  be  only  just." 

"  Yes,  but  it  would  be  ruinous." 

"  No,  the  one  for  wealthy  people  would  be  a  steamer  like 
this,  and  the  one  for  emigrants  a  sailing  vessel." 

"  But  that,  too,  would  be  unjust,  madame,  for  the  steamer 
would  go  more  quickly  than  the  sailing  boat." 

"  That  would  not  matter  at  all,"  I  argued.  "  Wealthy 
people  are  always  in  a  hurry  and  the  poor  never  are.  And 
then,  considering  what  is  awaiting  them  in  the  land  to  which 
they  are  going.  ..." 

"  It  is  the  Promised  Land. ' ' 

*'  Oh!  poor  things  .  .  .  poor  things  ,  .  .  with  their  Prom- 
ised Land — Dakota  or  Colorado !  In  the  daytime  they  have 
the  sun  which  makes  their  brains  boil,  scorches  the  ground, 
dries  up  the  springs,  and  brings  forth  endless  numbers  of 
mosquitoes  to  sting  their  bodies  and  try  their  patience.  The 
Promised  Land!  At  night  they  have  the  terrible  cold  to  make 
their  eyes  smart,  to  stiffen  their  joints,  and  ruin  their  lungs. 
The  Promised  Land!  It  is  just  death  in  some  out-of-the-world 
place  after  fruitless  appeals  to  the  justice  of  their  fellow 
countrymen.  They  will  breathe  their  life  out  in  a  sob  or  in 
a  terrible  curse  of  hatred.  God  will  have  mercy  on  all  of 
them,  though,  for  it  is  piteous  to  think  that  all  these  poor 
creatures  are  delivered  over  with  their  feet  bound  by  suffer- 
ing, and  their  hands  bound  by  hope,  to  the  slave  drivers 
who  trade  in  white  slaves.  And  when  I  think  that  the  money 
is  in  the  purser's  cash  box  which  the  slave  driver  has  paid 
for  the  transport  of  all  these  poor  creatures!  JMoney  that 
has  been  collected  by  rough  hands  or  trembling  fingers.  Poor 
money  economized,  copper  by  copper,  tear  by  tear.  AVhen 
I    think    of    all    this    it    makes    me    wish    that    we    could    be 

375 


MEMORIES    OF    MV    EIEE 

Khipwi'rckcil,  that  wr  could  Ix'  all  killed,  and  all  of  those 
savt'd. 

With  these  words  I  hurried  away  to  my  cabin  to  have  a 
^'ood  cry,  for  I  was  seized  with  a  ^rcat  love  for  liuirianity  and 
intense  grief  that  I  could  do  notiiinfi,  absolutely  nothing!  .  .  . 

'J'he  following  morning  I  awoke  late,  as  I  had  not  fallen 
aslecj)  until  near  dawn.  My  cabin  was  full  of  visitors  and  they 
were  all  hokling  small  parcels  half  concealed.  I  rubbed  my 
sleepy  eyes  and  could  not  (juite  understand  the  meaning  of 
their  invasion, 

"  My  dear  Sarah,"  said  Mme.  Guerard,  coming  to  me  and 
kissing  me,  "  don't  imagine  that  this  day,  your  fete  day,  could 
be  forgotten  by  those  who  love  you." 

"  Oh!  "  I  exclaimed,  "  is  it  the  23d?  " 

"  Yes,  and  here  is  the  first  of  the  remembrances  from  the 
absent  ones." 

My  eyes  filled  with  tears  and  it  was  through  a  mist  that  I 
saw  the  portrait  of  that  young  being  more  precious  to  me  than 
anything  else  in  the  world,  with  a  few  words  in  his  own  hand 
writing.  .  .  .  Then  there  were  some  presents  from  friends  .  .  . 
pieces  of  work  from  humble  admirers,  ]\Iy  little  godson  of  the 
previous  evening  was  brought  to  me  in  a  basket,  with  oranges, 
apples,  and  tangerines  all  round  him.  He  had  a  golden  star 
on  his  forehead,  a  star  cut  out  of  some  gold  paper  in  which 
chocolate  had  been  wrapped.  My  maid  Felicie,  and  Claude, 
her  husband,  who  were  most  devoted  to  me,  had  prepared  some 
very  ingenious  little  surprises.  Presently  there  was  a  knock  at 
my  door  and  on  calling  out  "  Come  in,"  I  saw,  to  my  surprise, 
three  sailors  carrying  a  superb  bouquet  which  they  presented 
to  me  in  the  name  of  the  whole  crew.  I  was  wild  with  ad- 
miration and  wanted  to  know  how  they  had  managed  to  keep 
the  flowers  in  such  good  condition.  It  was  an  enormous  bouquet, 
but  when  I  took  it  in  my  hands  I  let  it  fall  to  the  ground  in 
an  uncontrollable  fit  of  laughter.  The  flowers  were  all  cut  out 
of  vegetables,  but  so  perfectly  done  that  the  illusion  was  com- 
plete at  a  little  distance.  Magnificent  roses  were  cut  out  of 
carrots,  camelias  out  of  turnips,  small  radishes  had  furnished 

376 


MY    ARRIVAL    IN    AMERICA 

sprays  of  rosebuds  stuck  on  to  long  leeks  dyed  green,  and  all 
these  relieved  by  carrot  leaves  artistically  arranged  to  imitate 
the  grassy  plants  used  for  elegant  bouquets.  The  stalks  were 
tied  together  with  a  bow  of  tri-colored  ribbon.  One  of  the 
sailors  made  a  very  touching  little  speech  on  behalf  of  his  com- 
rades, who  wished  to  thank  me  for  a  trifling  service  rendered. 
I  shook  hands  cordially  and  thanked  them  heartily  and  this  was 
the  signal  for  a  little  concert  that  had  been  organized  in  the 
cabin  of  my  petite  dame.  There  had  been  a  private  rehearsal 
with  two  violins  and  a  flute,  so  that  for  the  next  hour  I  was 
lulled  by  the  most  delightful  music,  which  transported  me  to 
my  own  dear  ones,  to  my  hall  which  seemed  so  distant  to  me 
at  that  moment,  and  for  the  first  time  since  my  departure  I 
regretted  having  set  out.  This  little  fete,  which  was  almost  a 
domestic  one,  together  with  the  music,  had  evoked  the  tender 
and  restful  side  of  my  life,  and  the  tears  that  all  this  called 
forth  fell  without  grief,  bitterness,  or  regret.  I  wept  simply 
because  I  was  deeply  moved,  and  I  w^as  tired,  nervous,  and 
weary,  and  had  a  longing  for  rest  and  peace.  I  fell  asleep  in 
the  midst  of  my  tears,  sighs,  and  sobs. 

Finally,  the  boat  stopped  on  the  27th  of  October,  at  half 
past  six  in  the  morning.  I  was  asleep,  worn  out  by  three  days 
and  nights  of  wald  storms.  My  maid  had  some  difficulty  in 
rousing  me.  I  could  not  believe  that  we  had  arrived,  and  I 
wanted  to  go  on  sleeping  until  the  last  minute.  I  had  to  give 
in  to  the  evidence,  however,  as  the  boat  had  stopped.  This  sud- 
den arrival  delighted  me  and  everything  seemed  to  be  trans- 
formed in  a  minute.  I  forgot  all  my  discomforts,  and  the 
weariness  of  the  eleven  days'  crossing.  The  sun  was  rising, 
pale  but  rose  tinted,  dispersing  the  mists  and  shining  over  the 
river.  I  had  entered  the  New  World  in  the  midst  of  a  display 
of  sunshine.  This  seemed  to  me  a  good  omen.  I  am  so  super- 
stitious that  if  I  had  arrived  when  there  w^as  no  sunshine  I 
should  have  been  wretched,  and  most  anxious  until  after  my 
first  performance.  It  is  a  perfect  torture  to  be  superstitious 
to  this  degree  and,  unfortunately  for  me,  I  am  ten  times  more 
so  now  than  I  was  in  those  days,  for  besides  the  superstitions 

377 


MEMOIUKS    OF    MY    LIFK 

of  my  own  country  I  luivc,  tliaiiks  to  my  travels,  added  to  n)y 
stock  all  the  superstitions  of  the  other  countries.  I  know  them 
all  now  and  in  any  critical  moment  of  my  life  they  all  rise  up 
id  ai-med  lejrions,  for  or  ajrainst  me.  I  cannot  walk  a  single 
step,  or  make  any  movement  or  gesture,  sit  down,  go  out,  look 
at  the  sky  or  the  ground,  without  finding  some  reason  for  hope 
or  for  despair  until  at  last,  exasperated  by  the  trammels  put 
upon  jiiy  actions  by  my  thought,  I  defy  all  my  superstitions  and 
just  act  as  I  want  to.  Delighted,  then,  with  what  seemed  to  me 
to  be  a  good  omen  I  began  to  dress  gleefully.  Mr.  Jarrett  had 
just  knocked  at  my  door. 

"  Do  please  be  ready  as  soon  as  possible,  madame, "  he  said, 
"  for  there  are  several  boats,  with  the  French  colors  flying  that 
have  come  out  to  meet  you. ' ' 

I  glanced  in  the  direction  of  my  porthole  and  saw  a  small 
steamer,  black  with  people,  and  then  two  other  small  boats  no 
less  laden  than  the  first  one.  The  sun  lighted  up  all  these 
French  flags  and  my  heart  began  to  beat  more  quickly.  I  had 
been  without  any  news  for  twelve  days,  as,  in  spite  of  all  the 
ett'orts  of  our  good  captain,  L'Amerique  had  taken  twelve  days 
for  the  journey.  A  man  had  just  come  on  deck,  and  I  rushed 
toward  him  with  outstretched  hands  unable  to  utter  a  single 
word.  He  gave  me  a  packet  of  telegrams.  I  did  not  see  any- 
one present,  and  I  heard  no  sound.  I  wanted  to  know  some- 
thing. And  among  all  the  telegrams  I  was  searching  first  for 
one,  just  one  name.  At  last  I  had  it,  the  telegram  I  had 
waited  for,  feared  and  hoped  to  receive.  Here  it  was  at  last. 
I  closed  my  eyes  for  a  second,  and  during  that  time  I  saw  all 
that  was  dear  to  me  and  felt  the  infinite  sweetness  of  it  all, 
"When  I  opened  my  eyes  again  I  was  slightly  embarrassed  for  I 
was  surrounded  by  a  crowd  of  unknown  people,  all  of  them 
silent  and  indulgent,  but  evidently  very  curious.  "Wishing  to 
go  aw-ay  I  took  ]\Ir.  Jarrett 's  arm  and  went  to  the  salon.  As 
soon  as  I  entered,  the  first  notes  of  the  '  *  ]\Iarseillaise  ' '  rang  out, 
and  our  consul  spoke  a  few  words  of  welcome  and  handed  me 
some  flowers.  A  group  representing  the  French  colony  pre- 
sented me  with  a  friendly  address.     Then  M.  Mercier,  the  editor 

378 


SARAH    BERNHARDT    IN    TRAVELLING    COSTUME,    1880. 


MY    ARRIVAL    IN    AMERICA 

of  the  Courrier  des  Etats-Vnis,  made  a  speech,  as  witty  as  it 
was  kindly.  It  was  a  thoroughly  French  speech.  Then  came 
the  terrible  moment  of  introductions.  Oh,  what  a  tiring  time 
that  was!  My  mind  was  kept  at  a  tension  to  catch  the  names. 
Mr.  Pemb  .  .  .  ]\Iadame  Harth  .  .  ,  with  the  h  aspirated.  AVith 
great  difficulty  I  grasped  the  first  syllable,  and  the  second  fin- 
ished in  a  confusion  of  muffled  vowels  and  hissing  consonants. 
By  the  time  the  twentieth  name  was  pronounced  I  had  given  up 
listening,  I  simply  kept  on  with  my  little  risorius  de  Santorini, 
half  closed  my  eyes,  held  out  mechanically  the  arm,  at  the  end 
of  which  was  the  hand  that  had  to  shake  and  be  shaken,  I  re- 
plied all  the  time:  "  Conibien  je  suis  charmee,  madame.  .  .  .  O/i, 
certainement!  .  .  .  Oh,  oui!  .  .  .  Oh,  non!  .  .  .  Ah!  .  .  .  OJi! 
Oh!  .  .  ."  1  Avas  getting  dazed,  idiotic — worn  out  with  stand- 
ing. I  had  only  one  idea,  and  that  was  to  get  my  rings  off 
the  fingers  that  were  swelling  with  the  repeated  grips  they  were 
having.  My  eyes  were  getting  larger  and  larger  with  terror,  as 
they  gazed  at  the  door  through  which  the  crowd  continued  to 
stream  in  my  direction.  .  .  .  there  to  shake  .  .  .  My  risorius  de 
Santorini  must  still  go  on  working  more  than  fifty  times  ...  I 
could  feel  the  beads  of  perspiration  standing  out  under  my 
hair- — and  I  began  to  get  terribly  nervous.  My  teeth  chattered 
and  I  commenced  stammering.  "  Oh,  madame!  .  .  .  Oh!  .  .  .  Je 
suis  cha — cha.  ..."  I  really  could  not  go  on  any  longer. 
I  felt  that  I  should  get  angry  or  burst  out  crying  ...  in  fact 
that  I  was  about  to  make  myself  ridiculous.  I  decided  there- 
fore to  faint.  ...  I  made  a  movement  with  my  hand  as  though 
it  wanted  to  continue  but  could  not.  ...  I  opened  my  mouth, 
closed  my  eyes  and  fell  gently  into  Jarrett's  arms.  "  Quick! 
air !  ...  A  doctor.  .  .  .  Poor  thing.  .  .  .  How  pale  she  is ! 
Take  her  hat  off.  .  .  .  Loosen  her  corset.  .  .  .  She  doesn't  wear 
one.  Unfasten  her  dress.  ..."  I  was  terrified,  but  Felicie 
was  called  up  in  haste  and  my  petite  dame  would  not  allow  any 
deshabillage.  The  doctor  came  back  with  a  bottle  of  ether. 
Felicie  seized  the  bottle. 

"  Oh,   no,   doctor  .  .  .  not   ether!     When   madame  is   quite 
w^ell  the  odor  of  ether  will  make  her  faint. ' ' 

379 


MEMOIUKS    OF    ^]\    ]AVK 

Tliis  \v;is  (jiiitr  true  .'ind  I  tlioii'jlit  i1  was  t'urio  to  conic  to 
my  wsciiscs  iiKJiin.  The  I'cportcM's  were  arrivinj^  aud  there  were 
more  than  twenty  of  tlieni,  but  Jarrett,  who  was  very  much 
affected,  asked  them  to  ixu  to  tlie  Albemarle  Hotel,  where  I 
was  to  put  up.  I  saw  eaeii  of  the  reporters  take  Jarrett  aside, 
and  wlien  I  asked  him  what  the  secret  was  of  all  these  "  asides  " 
he  answered  phlegmatically :  "I  have  made  an  appointment 
with  them  from  one  o'clock.  There  will  be  a  fresh  one  every  ten 
minutes."  I  looked  at  him  petrified  with  astonishment.  He 
met  my  anxious  gaze  and  said : 

*'  Oh,  Old,  il  etait  necessairc!  " 

On  arriving  at  the  Albemarle  Hotel  I  felt  tired  and  ner- 
vous, and  wanted  to  be  left  quite  alone.  I  hurried  away  at  once 
to  my  room  in  the  suite  that  had  been  engaged  for  me  and  fa.st- 
ened  the  doors.  There  was  neither  lock  nor  bolt  on  one  of  them, 
but  I  pushed  a  piece  of  furniture  against  it  and  then  refused 
emphatically  to  open  it.  There  were  about  fifty  people  waiting 
in  the  drawing-room,  but  I  had  that  feeling  of  awful  weariness 
which  makes  one  ready  to  go  to  the  most  violent  extremes  for 
the  sake  of  an  hour's  repose.  I  wanted  to  lie  down  on  the 
rug,  cross  my  arms,  thrown  my  head  back,  and  close  my  eyes.  I 
did  not  want  to  talk  any  more,  aud  I  did  not  want  to  have  to 
smile  or  look  at  anyone.  I  threw  myself  down  on  the  floor  and 
was  deaf  to  the  knocks  on  my  door,  and  to  Jarrett 's  supplica- 
tions. I  did  not  want  to  argue  the  matter,  so  I  did  not  utter 
a  word.  I  heard  the  murmur  of  grumbling  voices  and  Jar- 
rett's  words  tactfully  persuading  the  visitors  to  stay.  I  heard 
the  rustle  of  paper  being  pushed  under  the  door  and  ]\Ime. 
Guerard  whispering  to  Jarrett,  who  was  furious. 

"  You  don't  know  her,  M.  Jarrett,"  I  heard  her  say:  "  if 
she  thought  you  were  forcing  the  door  open,  against  which 
she  has  pushed  the  furniture,  she  would  jump  out  of  the 
window !  ' ' 

Then  I  heard  Felicie  talking  to  a  French  lady  who  was  in- 
sisting on  seeing  me.  "  It  is  quite  impossible,"  she  was  saying. 
"  JNIadame  Avould  be  quite  hysterical.  She  needs  an  hour's  rest 
and  everyone  must  wait!  "     For  some  little  time  I  could  hear 

380 


MY    ARRIVAL    IN    AMERICA 

a  confused  murmur  which  seemed  to  get  farther  away,  and 
then  I  fell  into  a  delicious  sleep,  laughing  to  myself  as  I  went 
off,  for  my  good  temper  returned  as  I  pictured  the  angry,  non- 
plused expression  on  the  faces  of  my  visitors, 

I  woke  in  an  hour's  time,  for  I  have  the  precious  gift  of 
being  able  to  sleep  ten  minutes,  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  or  an 
hour,  just  as  I  like,  and  I  then  wake  quite  peacefully  without 
any  start,  at  the  time  I  have  decided  upon.  Nothing  does  mo 
so  much  good  as  this  rest  to  body  and  mind,  decided  upon  and 
regulated  merely  by  my  will.  Very  often  in  my  own  family  I 
have  lain  down  on  the  bearskin  hearth  rug  in  front  of  the  fire, 
telling  everyone  to  go  on  talking  and  take  no  notice  of  me.  I 
have  then  slept,  perhaps  for  an  hour,  and  on  waking  have 
found  two  or  three  newcomers  in  the  room  who,  not  wishing 
to  disturb  me,  have  taken  part  in  the  general  conversation, 
while  waiting  until  I  should  wake  up  to  present  their  respects 
to  me.  Even  now  I  lie  down  on  the  huge,  wide  sofa  in  the  little 
Empire  salon  which  leads  into  my  logs  and  I  sleep  while  wait- 
ing for  the  friends  and  artistes,  with  whom  I  have  made  ap- 
pointments, to  be  ushered  in.  When  I  open  my  eyes  I  see  the 
faces  of  my  kind  friends,  who  shake  hands  cordially,  delighted 
that  I  should  have  had  some  rest.  My  mind  is  then  tranquil 
and  I  am  ready  to  listen  to  all  the  beautiful  ideas  proposed  to 
me  or  to  decline  the  absurdities  submitted  to  me,  without  being 
ungracious. 

I  woke  up,  then,  at  the  Albemarle  Hotel  an  hour  later  and 
found  myself  lying  on  the  rug.  I  opened  the  door  of  my  room 
and  discovered  my  dear  Guerard  and  my  faithful  Felicie  seated 
on  a  trunk. 

"  Are  there  any  people  there  still?  "  I  asked. 

' '  Oh,  madame !  there  are  about  a  hundred  now, ' '  answered 
Felicie. 

"  Help  me  take  my  things  off  then,  quickly,"  I  said,  "  and 
find  me  a  white  dress. ' ' 

In  about  five  minutes  I  was  ready,  and  I  felt  that  I  looked 
nice  from  head  to  foot.  I  went  into  the  drawing-room,  where 
all  these  unknown  persons  were  waiting.    Jarrett  came  forward 

381 


MEMORIES    ()!■     MV    TJFE 

to  meet  mo,  l)ut  on  sccini^  me  well  dressed  and  with  a  sinilinfj 
face,  lu'  postponed  the  sernion  that  he  wanted  to  preaeh  nie. 

I  slionld  like  to  introdnee  Jarrett  to  my  readers,  for  he  was 
a  most  extraordinary  man.  He  was  tlien  al)out  sixty-five  or 
seventy  yeai's  of  age.  lie  was  tall  with  a  faee  like  King  Ajja- 
memnon,  frameil  by  the  most  beautiful  silver-white  hair  I  have 
even  seen  on  a  man's  head.  His  eyes  were  of  so  pale  a  blue 
that  when  they  lighted  np  with  anger  he  looked  as  though  he 
were  blind.  AVhen  he  was  calm  and  tranquil,  admiring  nature, 
his  face  was  really  handsome,  but  when  gay  and  animated  his 
upper  lip  showed  his  teeth,  and  curled  up  in  a  most  ferocioas 
sniff,  and  his  grin  seemed  to  be  caused  by  the  drawing  up  of  his 
pointed  ears  which  were  always  moving  as  though  on  the  watch 
for  prey.  He  was  a  terrible  man,  extremely  intelligent,  but 
from  childhood  he  must  have  been  fighting  with  the  world,  and 
he  had  the  most  profound  contempt  for  all  mankind.  Although 
he  must  have  suffered  a  great  deal  himself,  he  had  no  pity  for 
those  who  suffered.  He  always  said  that  every  man  was  armed 
for  his  own  defense.  He  pitied  women,  did  not  care  for  them, 
but  was  always  ready  to  help  them.  He  was  very  rich,  and 
very  economical,  but  not  miserly.  "  I  made  my  way  in  life," 
he  often  said  to  me,  "  by  the  aid  of  two  weapons:  honesty  and 
a  revolver.  In  business  honesty  is  the  most  terrible  weapon  a 
man  can  use  against  rascals  and  crafty  people — the  former 
don't  know  what  it  is,  and  the  latter  do  not  believe  in  it — while 
the  revolver  is  an  admirable  invention  for  compelling  scoundrels 
to  keep  their  word."  He  used  to  tell  me  about  wonderful  and 
terrifying  adventures.  He  had  a  deep  scar  under  his  right 
eye.  Dui-ing  a  violent  discussion  about  a  contract  to  be  signed 
for  Jenny  Lind,  the  celebrated  singer,  Jarrett  said  to  his  in- 
terlocutor, pointing  at  the  same  time  to  his  right  eye:  "  Look 
at  that  eye,  sir,  it  is  now"  reading  in  your  mind  all  that  you 
are  not  saying."  "  It  doesn't  know  how  to  read,  then,  for  it 
never  foresaw  that,"  said  the  other  firing  his  revolver  at  Jar- 
rett's  right  eye.  "  A  bad  shot,  sir,"  replied  Jarrett,  "this  is 
the  way  to  take  aim  for  effectually  closing  an  eye,"  and  he  put 
a  ball  between  the  two  eyes  of  the  other  man,  who  fell  down 

382 


MY    ARRIVAL    IN    AMERICA 

dead.  When  Jarrett  told  this  story,  his  lip  curled  up  and  his 
two  incisors  appeared  to  be  crunching  the  words  w'ith  delight, 
and  his  bursts  of  stifled  laughter  sounded  like  the  snapping  of 
his  jaws.  He  was  an  upright,  honest  man,  though,  and  I  liked 
him  very  much,  and  like  what  I  remember  of  him. 

My  first  impression  was  a  joyful  one,  and  I  clapped  my 
hands  with  delight  as  I  entered  the  drawing-room  which  I  had 
not  yet  seen.  The  busts  of  Racine,  Moliere,  and  Victor  Hugo 
were  on  pedestals  surrounded  with  flowers.  All  around  the 
large  room  were  sofas  laden  with  cushions  and  to  remind  me 
of  my  home  in  Paris  there  were  tall  palms  stretching  out  their 
branches  over  the  sofas.  Jarrett  introduced  Knoedler  to  me, 
who  had  suggested  this  piece  of  gallantry.  He  was  a  very 
charming  man.  I  shook  hands  with  him  and  we  were  friends 
from  that  time  forth.  The  visitors  soon  went  away,  but  the 
reporters  remained.  They  were  all  seated,  some  of  them  on 
the  arms  of  the  chairs,  others  on  the  cushions.  One  of  them 
had  crouched  down  tailor  fashion  on  a  bearskin  and  was  lean- 
ing back  against  the  steam  heater.  He  was  pale  and  thin  and 
coughed  a  great  deal.  I  went  toward  him  and  had  just  opened 
my  lips  to  speak  to  him,  although  I  was  rather  horrified  that 
he  did  not  rise,  when  he  addressed  me  in  a  bass  voice: 

**  Which  is  your  favorite  role,  madame?  "  he  asked. 

"  That  is  no  concern  of  yours,"  I  answered,  turning  my 
back  on  him.  In  doing  so  I  knocked  against  another  reporter, 
who  was  more  polite. 

**  What  do  you  eat  as  soon  as  you  wake  in  the  morning, 
madame?  "  he  inquired. 

I  was  about  to  reply  to  him  as  I  had  done  to  the  first  one, 
but  Jarrett,  who  had  had  difficulty  in  appeasing  the  anger  of 
the  crouching  man,  answered  quickly  for  me:  "  Oatmeal."  I 
did  not  know  what  that  dish  was,  but  the  ferocious  reporter 
continued  his  questions : 

*'  And  what  do  you  eat  during  the  day?  " 

''  Mussels." 

He  wrote  down  phlegmatically :  *'  Mussels  through  the  day." 

I  moved  toward  the  door  and  a  reporter  in  a  tailor-made 

383 


MEMORIES    or    MV    LIFE 

skirt,  witli  her  hair  cut  sliort,  askid  iiic  in  a  clear,  sweet  voice: 
"  Are  you  a  J('weatholieprot('staritti)ah()iiM'taiil)U(l<lhistatheist- 
zoroastertheistordeistV  "  I  stood  still,  rooted  to  the;  spot  in  Ije- 
■wilderment.  She  had  said  all  that  in  a  breath,  accenting  the 
syllables  haphazard,  and  making  of  the  wliole  one  word,  so 
wildly  ineolierent  that  my  impression  Avas  it  was  not  safe  to  re- 
main near  this  strange,  gentle  person.  I  must  have  looked  un- 
easy, and  as  my  eyes  fell  on  an  elderly  lady  who  was  talking 
gayly  to  a  little  group  of  people  she  came  to  my  rescue,  saying 
in  very  good  French.  "  This  young  lady  is  asking  you, 
madame,  whether  you  are  of  the  Jewish  religion  or  whether 
you  are  a  Catholic,  a  Protestant,  a  Mahometan,  a  Buddhist,  an 
atheist,  a  Zoroaster,  a  theist,  or  a  deist?  " 

I  sank  down  on  a  couch.  "  Oh,  heavens!  "  I  exclaimed, 
"  will  it  be  like  this  in  all  the  cities  I  visit?  " 

"  Oh,  no,"  answered  Jarrett,  placidly,  "  your  interviews 
will  be  wired  throughout  America." 

"  What  about  the  mussels?  "  I  thought  to  myself,  and  then 
in  an  absent-minded  way  I  answered,  "  I  am  a  Catholic,  made- 
moiselle." 

"  A  Roman  Catholic,  or  do  you  belong  to  the  Orthodox 
church?  "  she  asked. 

I  jumped  up  from  my  seat,  for  she  bored  me  beyond  en- 
durance, and  a  very  young  man  then  approached  timidly. 

"  Will  you  allow  me  to  finish  my  sketch,  madame?  "  he 
asked. 

I  remained  standing,  my  profile  turned  toward  him  at  his 
request.  When  he  had  finished  I  asked  to  see  what  he  had  done 
and,  perfectly  unabashed,  he  handed  me  his  horrible  drawing 
of  a  skeleton  with  a  curly  wig.  I  tore  the  sketch  up  and 
threw  it  at  him,  but  the  following  day  that  horror  appeared  in 
the  papers,  with  a  disagreeable  inscription  underneath  it. 
Fortunately  I  was  able  to  speak  seriously  about  my  art  with 
a  few  honest  and  intelligent  journalists,  but  twenty-five  years 
ago  reporters'  paragraplis  were  more  appreciated  in  America 
than  serious  articles,  and  the  public,  very  much  less  literary 
then  than  at  present,  always  seemed  ready  to  echo  the  turpi- 

3S-i 


MY    ARRIVAL    IN    AMERICA 

tildes  invented  by  reporters  hard  up  for  copy.  I  should  think 
that  no  creature  in  the  world,  since  the  invention  of  r-eportage, 
has  ever  had  as  much  to  endure  as  I  had  during  that  first  tour. 
The  basest  calumnies  were  circulated  by  my  enemies  long  be- 
fore I  arrived  in  America;  there  was  all  the  treachery  of  the 
friends  of  the  Comedie  and  even  of  my  own  admirers,  who 
hoped  that  I  should  not  succeed  on  my  tour  so  that  I  might  re- 
turn more  quickly  to  the  fold,  humiliated,  calmed  down,  and 
subdued.  Then  there  were  the  exaggerated  announcements  in- 
vented by  my  impresario,  Abbey,  and  my  representative,  Jar- 
rett.  These  announcements  were  often  outrageous  and  always 
ridiculous,  but  I  did  not  know  their  real  source  until  long 
afterwards  when  it  was  too  late,  much  too  late,  to  undeceive  the 
public,  who  were  fully  persuaded  that  I  was  the  instigator  of 
all  these  inventions.  I  therefore  did  not  attempt  to  undeceive 
them.  It  matters  very  little  to  me  whether  people  believe  one 
thing  or  another.  Life  is  short,  even  for  those  who  live  a  long 
time,  and  we  must  live  for  the  few  who  know  and  appreciate 
us,  who  judge  and  absolve  us,  and  for  whom  we  have  the  same 
affection  and  indulgence.  The  rest  I  look  upon  as  a  mere 
crowd,  lively  or  sad,  loyal  or  corrupt,  from  whom  there  is  noth- 
ing to  be  expected  but  fleeting  emotions,  either  pleasant  or 
unpleasant,  which  leave  no  trace  behind  them.  We  ought  to 
hate  very  rarely,  as  it  is  too  fatiguing,  remain  indifferent  to  a 
great  deal,  forgive  often  and  never  forget.  Forgiving  does 
not  mean  forgetting,  at  least  it  does  not  with  me.  I  will  not 
mention  here  any  of  the  outrageous  and  infamous  attacks  that 
were  made  upon  me,  as  it  would  be  doing  too  great  an  honor 
to  the  wretched  people  who  were  responsible  for  them  from 
beginning  to  end,  dipping  their  pen  in  the  gall  of  their  own 
soul.  All  I  can  say  is  that  nothing  kills  but  death,  and  that 
anyone  who  wishes  to  defend  himself  or  herself  from  slander 
can  do  it.  For  that  one  must  live.  It  is  not  given  to  everyone 
to  be  able  to  do  it,  but  it  depends  on  the  will  of  God  who  sees 
and  judges. 


26 


385 


CHAPTER   XXVI 


NEW   YORK   AND   BOSTON 


TOOK  two  days'  rest  before  going  to  the  theater,  for 
I  could  feel  the  movement  of  the  boat  all  the  time, 
my  head  was  dizzy,  and  it  seemed  to  me  as  though 
the  ceiling  moved  up  and  down.  The  twelve  days 
on  the  sea  had  quite  upset  my  health.  I  sent  a  line  to  the 
stage  manager  telling  him  that  we  would  rehearse  on  Wednes- 
day, and  on  that  day  as  soon  as  luncheon  was  over  I  went  to  the 
Booth  Theater,  where  our  performances  were  to  take  place. 
At  the  door  reserved  for  the  artistes  I  saw  a  compact,  swaying 
crowd,  very  much  animated  and  gesticulating.  These  strange- 
looking  individuals  did  not  belong  to  the  artiste  world.  They 
were  not  reporters,  either,  for  I  knew  them  too  well,  alas !  to  be 
mistaken  in  them.  They  were  not  there  out  of  curiosity,  either, 
these  people,  for  they  seemed  too  much  occupied  and  then,  too, 
there  were  only  men.  When  my  carriage  drew  up  one  of  them 
rushed  forward  to  the  door  of  it  and  then  returned  to  the 
swaying  crowd.  "  Here  she  is,  here  she  is!  "  I  heard,  and 
then  all  these  common  men  with  their  white  neckties  and  ques- 
tionable-looking hands,  with  their  coats  flying  open  and  trou- 
sers whose  knees  were  worn  and  dirty  looking,  crowded  behind 
me  into  the  narrow  passage  leading  to  the  staircase.  I  did  not 
feel  very  easy  in  my  mind,  and  I  mounted  the  stairs  rapidly. 
Several  persons  were  waiting  for  me  at  the  top,  Mr.  Abbey, 
Jarrett,  and  also  some  reporters,  two  gentlemen,  and  a  charming 
and  most  distinguished  woman  whose  friendship  I  have  kept 
ever  since,  although  she  does  not  care  much  for  French  peo- 

386 


NEW    YORK    AND    BOSTON 

pie.  I  saw  Mr.  Abbey,  who  was  usually  very  dignified  and  cold, 
advance  in  the  most  gracious  and  courteous  way  to  one  of  the 
men  who  were  following  me.  They  raised  their  hats  to  each 
other  and,  followed  by  the  strange  and  brutal-looking  regi- 
ment, they  advanced  toward  the  center  of  the  stage.  I  then 
saw  the  strangest  of  sights.  In  the  middle  of  the  stage  were 
my  forty-two  trunks.  In  obedience  to  a  sign  twenty  of  the 
men  came  forward  and  placing  themselves,  each  one  between 
two  trunks,  with  a  quick  movement  with  their  right  and  left 
hands  they  lifted  the  lids  of  the  trunks  on  the  right  and  left 
of  them.  Jarrett  with  frowns  and  an  unpleasant  grin  held 
out  my  keys  to  them.  He  had  asked  me  that  morning  for  my 
keys  for  the  customs.  ' '  Oh,  it 's  nothing !  "  he  said,  ' '  don 't  be 
uneasy,"  and  the  way  in  which  my  luggage  had  always  been 
respected  in  other  countries  had  given  me  perfect  confidence 
about  it.  The  principal  personage  of  the  ugly  group  came 
toward  me  accompanied  by  Abbey,  and  Jarrett  explained  things 
to  me.  The  man  was  an  official  from  the  American  custom- 
house. The  custom  office  is  an  abominable  institution  in  every 
country,  but  worse  in  America  than  anywhere  else.  I  w3s  pre- 
pared for  all  this  and  was  most  affable  to  the  tormenter  of  a 
traveler's  patience.  He  raised  the  melon  which  served  him  for 
a  hat  and,  without  taking  his  cigar  out  of  his  mouth  made  some 
incomprehensible  remark  to  me.  He  then  turned  to  his  regi- 
ment of  men,  made  an  abrupt  sign  with  his  hand,  and  uttered 
some  word  of  command,  whereupon  the  forty  dirty  hands  of 
these  twenty  men  proceeded  to  forage  among  my  velvets,  satins, 
and  laces.  I  rushed  forward  to  save  my  poor  dresses  from 
such  outrageous  violations,  and  I  ordered  our  costume  maker  to 
lift  my  gowns  out  one  at  a  time,  which  she  accordingly  did, 
aided  by  my  maid,  who  was  in  tears  at  the  small  amount  of 
respect  shown  by  these  boors  to  all  my  beautiful,  fragile  things. 
Two  ladies  had  just  arrived,  very  noisy  and  businesslike.  One 
of  them  was  short  and  stout,  her  nose  seemed  to  begin  at  the 
roots  of  her  hair ;  she  had  round,  placid-looking  eyes  and  a  mouth 
like  a  snout ;  her  arms  she  was  hiding  timidly  behind  her  hea\y, 
flabby  bust  and  her  ungainly  knees  seemed  to  come  straight 

387 


MEMOUIES    OF    MY    LIFE 

out  1)1'  her  ;^r(>in.  Slic  looked  like  a  seated  eow.  TTor  com- 
])iiiiioii  was  like  :i  teiTapiii,  with  Iht  lillle,  l)laek,  evil-looking 
head  at  the  eml  of  a  iK'(;k  which  was  too  h)ii^',  and  very  stfin<;y. 
She  kei)t  shooting  it  out  of  her  boa  and  dra\vin<,'  it  back  witli 
the  most  incredible  rapidity.  Tlu;  ivst  of  lici'  body  buli^'ed  out. 
.  .  .  These  two  delightful  persons  Avero  the  dressinakcrs  sent 
for  by  the  customhouse  to  estimate  my  costumes.  They  glanced 
at  nie  iji  a  furtive  way  and  gave  a  little  bow,  full  of  bitterness 
and  jealous  rage  at  the  sight  of  my  dressas,  and  I  was  quite 
aware  that  two  more  enemies  had  now  come  upon  the  scene. 
These  two  odious  shrews  began  to  chatter  and  argue,  pawing 
and  crumpling  my  dresses  and  cloaks  at  the  same  time.  They 
kept  exclaiming  in  the  most  emphatic  way:  "  Oh,  how  beautiful ! 
What  magnificence !  What  luxury !  All  our  customers  will 
want  gowns  like  these  and  we  shall  never  be  able  to  make  them! 
It  will  be  the  ruin  of  all  the  American  dressmakers."  They 
were  working  up  the  judges  into  a  state  of  excitement  for  this 
"  chiffon  court  martial."  They  kept  lamenting,  then  going 
into  raptures  and  asking  for  "  justice  "  against  foreign  in- 
vasion. The  ugly  band  of  men  nodded  their  heads  in  approval 
and  spat  on  the  ground  to  affirm  their  independence.  Suddenly 
the  Terrapin  turned  on  one  of  the  inquisitors : 

"  Oh,  isn't  it  beautiful!  Show  it  them,  show  it  them!  " 
she  exclaimed,  seizing  on  a  dress  all  embroidered  with  pearls, 
which  I  wore  in  "  La  Dame  aux  Camelias." 

"  This  dress  is  w^orth  at  least  $10,000,"  she  said  and  then, 
coming  up  to  me  she  asked :  ' '  How  much  did  you  pay  for  that 
dress,  madame?  " 

I  ground  my  teeth  together  and  would  not  answer,  for  just 
at  that  moment  I  should  have  enjoyed  seeing  the  Terrapin  in 
one  of  the  saucepans  in  the  Albemarle  Hotel  kitchen.  It  was 
nearly  half  past  five  and  my  feet  were  frozen.  I  was  half 
dead,  too,  wdth  fatigue  and  suppressed  anger.  The  rest  of  the 
examination  was  postponed  until  the  next  day,  and  the  ugly 
band  of  men  offered  to  put  everything  back  in  the  trunk,  but  I 
objected  to  that.  I  sent  out  for  five  hundred  yards  of  blue 
tarlatan  to  cover  over  the  mountain  of  dresses,  hats,  cloaks,  shoes, 

388 


NEW    YORK    AND    BOSTON 

laces,  linen,  stockings,  furs,  gloves,  etc.,  etc.  They  then  made 
me  take  my  oath  to  remove  nothing,  for  they  had  such  charming 
confidence  in  me,  and  I  left  my  butler  there  in  charge.  He  was 
the  husband  of  Felicie,  my  maid,  and  a  bed  was  put  up  for  him 
on  the  stage.  I  was  so  nervous  and  upset  that  I  wanted  to  go 
somewhere  far  away,  to  have  some  fresh  air,  and  to  stay  out  for 
a  long  time.  A  friend  offered  to  take  me  to  see  the  Brooklyn 
Bridge, 

' '  That  masterpiece  of  American  genius  will  make  you  forget 
the  petty  miseries  of  our  red-tape  affairs,"  he  said  gently,  and 
so  we  set  out  for  Brooklyn  Bridge. 

Oh,  that  bridge!  It  is  insane,  admirable,  imposing,  and  it 
makes  one  feel  proud.  Yes,  one  is  proud  to  be  a  human  being 
when  one  realizes  that  a  human  brain  has  created  and  sils- 
pended  in  the  air,  fifty  yards  from  the  ground,  that  fearful 
thing  which  bears  a  dozen  trains  filled  with  passengers,  ten  or 
twelve  tram  cars,  a  hundred  cabs,  carriages,  and  carts,  and 
thousands  of  foot  passengers,  and  all  that  moving  along  together 
amidst  the  uproar  of  the  music  of  the  metals,  clanging,  clashing, 
grating,  and  groaning  under  the  enormous  weight  of  people  and 
things.  The  movement  of  the  air  caused  by  this  frighful, 
tempestuous  coming  and  going,  caused  me  to  feel  giddy  and 
stopped  my  breath.  I  made  a  sign  for  the  carriage  to  stand 
still  and  I  closed  my  eyes.  I  then  had  a  strange  indefinable 
sensation  of  universal  chaos.  I  opened  my  eyes  again  when 
my  brain  was  a  little  more  tranquil  and  I  saw  New  York 
stretching  out  along  the  river,  wearing  its  night  ornaments, 
which  glittered  as  much  through  its  dress  with  thousands  of 
electric  lights  as  the  firmament  with  its  tunic  of  stars.  I  re- 
turned to  the  hotel  reconciled  with  this  great  nation.  I  went 
to  sleep  tired  in  body  but  rested  in  mind,  and  had  such  delight- 
ful dreams  that  I  was  in  a  good  humor  the  following  day.  I 
adore  dreams,  and  my  sad,  unhappy  days  are  those  which  follow 
dreamless  nights.  My  great  grief  is  that  I  cannot  choose  my 
dreams.  How  many  times  I  have  done  all  in  my  power  at  the 
end  of  a  happy  day  to  make  myself  dream  a  continuation  of  it ! 
How  many  times  I  have  called  up  the  faces  of  those  I  love  just 

389 


i\ii:m()hii:s  of  mv  mtk 

bfforc  falling  .asleep!  but  my  tliou«;lit,s  winder  and  carry  me 
ofl"  elsewhere,  and  I  prefer  that  or  even  a  dJsaj,'roeable  dream 
to  none  at  all.  When  I  am  asleep  my  body  has  an  infinite  sense 
of  enjoyment,  but  it  is  torture  to  me  for  my  thoughts  to  slumber. 
My  vital  forces  rebel  against  such  negation  of  life.  I  am  (luite 
willing  to  die  once  for  all,  but  I  object  to  slight  deaths  such 
as  those  of  which  one  has  the  sensation  on  dreamless  nights. 
When  I  awoke,  my  maid  told  me  that  Jarrett  was  waiting  for 
me  to  go  to  the  theater,  so  that  the  valuation  of  my  costumes 
could  be  terminated.  I  sent  word  to  Jarrett  that  I  had  seen 
quite  enough  of  the  regiment  from  the  customhouse,  and  I 
asked  him  to  finish  everything  without  me,  as  Mme.  Guerard 
would  be  there.  During  the  next  two  days  the  Terrapin,  the 
Seated  Cow  and  the  Black  Band  made  notes  for  the  customhouse, 
took  sketches  for  the  papers  and  patterns  of  my  dresses  for 
customers.  I  began  to  get  impatient,  as  we  ought  to  have  been 
rehearsing.  Finally,  I  was  told  on  Thursday  morning  that  the 
business  was  over,  and  that  I  could  not  have  my  trunks  until 
I  had  paid  28,000  francs  for  duty.  I  was  seized  with  such  a 
violent  fit  of  laughing  that  poor  Abbey,  who  had  been  ter- 
rified, caught  it  from  me  and  even  Jarrett  showed  his  cruel 
teeth. 

"  My  dear  Abbey, '^  I  exclaimed,  "  arrange  as  you  like  about 
it,  but  I  must  make  my  debut  on  ]\Ionday,  the  8th  of  November, 
and  to-day  is  Thursday.  I  shall  be  at  the  theater  on  ^Monday 
to  dress.  See  that  I  have  my  trunks,  for  there  was  nothing 
about  the  customhouse  in  my  contract.  I  will  pay  half,  though, 
of  what  you  have  to  give."  The  28,000  francs  were  handed  over 
to  an  attorney  w^ho  made  a  claim  in  my  name  on  the  Board  of 
Customs.  My  trunks  were  left  with  me,  thanks  to  this  deposit, 
and  the  rehearsals  commenced  at  Booth's  Theater. 

On  Monday  evening,  November  8th,  at  8.30,  the  curtain  rose 
for  the  first  performance  of  ' '  Adrienne  Lecouvreur. ' '  The  house 
was  crowded  and  the  seats,  which  had  been  sold  to  the  highest 
bidders  and  then  sold  by  them  again,  had  fetched  exorbitant 
prices.  I  was  aAvaited  with  impatience  and  curiosity,  but  not 
with  any  sympathy.     There  w^ere  no  young  girls  present,  as  the 

390 


SARAH    BERNHARDT   AT   HOME,    BY   WALTER   SPIXDLER. 


NEW    YORK    AND    BOSTON 

piece  was  too  immoral.  (Poor  Adrienne  Lecouvreiir  I)  The 
audience  was  very  polite  to  the  artistes  of  my  company,  but 
rather  impatient  to  see  the  strange  person  who  had  been  an- 
nounced to  them.  The  curtain  fell  at  the  end  of  the  first  act 
and  Adrienne  had  not  appeared.  One  of  the  audience,  very 
much  annoyed,  asked  to  see  Mr,  Henry  Abbey.  "  I  want  my 
money  back,"  he  said,  ''as  la  Bernhardt  is  not  in  every  act." 
Abbey  refused  to  return  the  money  to  the  extraordinary  in- 
dividual and  as  the  curtain  was  going  up  he  hurried  back  to 
take  possession  of  his  seat  again.  My  appearance  was  greeted 
by  several  rounds  of  applause,  which  I  believe  had  been  paid  for 
in  advance  by  Abbey  and  Jarrett.  I  commenced  and  the  sweet- 
ness of  my  voice  as  in  the  fable  of  the  ' '  Two  Pigeons  ' '  worked 
the  miracle.  The  whole  house  this  time  burst  out  into  hurrahs. 
A  current  of  sympathy  was  established  between  my  public  and 
myself.  Instead  of  the  hysterical  skeleton  that  had  been  an- 
nounced to  them,  they  had  before  them  a  very  frail-looking 
creature  with  a  sweet  voice.  The  fourth  act  was  applauded  and 
Adrienne' s  rebellion  against  the  Princesse  de  Bouillon  stirred 
the  whole  house.  Finally,  in  the  fifth  act,  when  the  unfortunate 
artiste  is  dying,  poisoned  by  her  rival,  there  was  quite  a  manifes- 
tation and  everyone  was  deeply  moved. 

At  the  end  of  the  third  act  all  the  young  men  were  sent  off 
by  the  ladies  to  find  all  the  musicians  they  could  get  together, 
and  to  my  surprise  and  delight  on  arriving  at  my  hotel  a  charm- 
ing serenade  was  played  for  me  while  I  was  at  supper.  The 
crowd  had  assembled  under  my  windows  at  the  Albemarle 
Hotel  and  I  was  obliged  to  go  out  on  to  the  balcony  several 
times  to  bow  and  to  thank  this  public,  which  I  had  been  told 
I  should  find  cold  and  prejudiced  against  me.  From  the 
bottom  of  my  heart  I  also  thanked  all  my  detractors  and  slan- 
derers, as  it  was  through  them  that  I  had  had  the  pleasure  of 
fighting,  with  the  certainty  of  conquering.  The  victory  was 
all  the  more  enjoyable  as  I  had  not  dared  to  hope  for  it. 

I  gave  twenty-seven  performances  in  New  York.  The  plays 
were  "  Adrienne  Lecouvreur,"  ''  Froufrou,"  "  Hernani," 
"La  Dame   aux  Camelias,"   '' Le   Sphinx,"   "  L'Etrangere." 

391 


MKMOUIIOS    OF    ^^'    I>IFE 

The  avorapo  roooiplx  were  20,;}42  francs  for  each  porformaneo, 
including  matini'cs.  The  bust  perfornianee  was  given  on  Sat- 
urday, December  4th,  as  a  matinee,  for  my  company  had  to 
leave  that  night  for  Boston  and  I  had  reserved  the  evening  to 
go  to  Mr.  Edison,  at  Menlo  I'ark,  where  I  had  a  reception 
worthy  of  fairyland. 

Oh,  that  matinee  of  Saturday,  December  4th !  I  can  never 
forget  it!  When  I  got  to  the  theater  to  dress  it  was  midday, 
for  the  matinee  was  to  commence  at  half  past  one.  My  car- 
riage stopped,  not  being  able  to  get  along,  for  the  street  was 
filled  by  ladies,  sitting  on  chairs  which  they  had  borrowed  from 
the  neighboring  shops,  or  on  folding  seats  which  they  had 
brought  themselves.  The  play  was  "  La  Dame  aux  Camelias. " 
I  had  to  get  out  of  my  carriage  and  walk  about  twenty- 
five  yards  on  foot  in  order  to  get  to  the  stage  door.  It  took 
me  twenty-five  minutes  to  do  it.  People  shook  my  hands  and 
begged  me  to  come  back.  One  lady  took  off  her  brooch  and 
pinned  it  in  my  mantle — a  modest  brooch  of  amethysts  sur- 
rounded by  fine  pearls,  but  certainly  for  the  giver  the  brooch 
had  its  value.  I  was  stopped  at  every  step.  One  lady  pulled 
out  her  notebook  and  begged  me  to  write  my  name.  The  idea 
took  like  lightning.  Small  boys  under  the  care  of  their  parents 
wanted  me  to  write  my  name  on  their  cuffs.  My  arms  were 
full  of  small  bouquets  which  had  been  pushed  into  my  hands. 
I  felt  behind  me  some  one  tugging  at  the  feather  in  my  hat.  I 
turned  round  sharply.  A  woman  with  a  pair  of  scissors  in 
her  hand  had  tried  to  cut  off  a  lock  of  my  hair,  but  she  had  only 
succeeded  in  cutting  the  feather  out  of  my  hat.  In  vain  Jar- 
rett  signalled  and  shouted — I  could  not  get  along.  They  sent 
for  the  police,  who  delivered  me,  but  without  any  ceremony, 
either  for  my  admirers  or  for  myself.  They  were  real  brutes, 
those  policemen,  and  made  me  very  angry.  I  played  "  La 
Dame  aux  Camelias  "  and  I  counted  seventeen  calls  after  the 
third  act  and  twenty-nine  after  the  fifth.  In  consequence  of 
the  cheering  and  calls  the  play  had  lasted  an  hour  longer  than 
usual  and  I  was  half  dead  with  fatigue.  I  was  just  about  to 
go  to  my  carriage  to  get  back  to  my  hotel  when  Jarrett  came 

392 


NEW    YORK    AND    BOSTON 

to  tell  me  that  there  were  more  than  50,000  people  waitiug  out- 
side.    I  fell  back  on  a  chair,  tired  and  disheartened. 

"  Oh,  I  will  wait  till  the  crowd  has  dispersed!  I  am  tired 
out.     I  can  do  no  more." 

But  Henry  Abbey  had  an  inspiration  of  genius. 

**  Stay,"  said  he  to  my  sister,  "  put  on  madame's  hat  and 
boa  and  take  my  arm.  And  take  also  these  bouquets — give  me 
what  you  cannot  carry.  And  now  we  will  go  to  your  sister's 
carriage  and  make  our  bow." 

He  said  all  this  in  English  and  Jarrett  translated  it  to  my 
sister  who  lent  herself  to  this  little  comedy  very  willingly. 
During  this  time  Jarrett  and  I  got  into  Abbey's  carriage,  which 
was  stationed  in  front  of  the  theater  where  no  one  was  waiting. 
And  it  was  fortunate  we  took  this  course,  for  my  sister  only 
got  back  to  the  Albemarle  Hotel  an  hour  later,  very  tired, 
but  very  much  amused.  Her  resemblance  to  myself,  my  hat, 
my  boa,  and  the  darkness  of  night  had  been  the  accomplices 
of  the  little  comedy  which  we  had  offered  to  my  enthusiastic 
public. 

We  had  to  set  out  at  nine  o  'clock  for  Menlo  Park.  We  had 
to  dress  in  traveling  costume,  for  the  following  day  we  were  to 
leave  for  Boston  and  my  trunks  had  gone  that  day  with  my 
company,  which  preceded  me  by  several  hours. 

The  dinner  was,  as  usual,  very  bad,  for  in  those  days 
in  America  the  food  was  unspeakably  awful.  At  ten  o'clock 
we  took  the  train — a  pretty,  special  train  all  decorated  with 
flowers  and  banners,  which  they  had  been  kind  enough  to  pre- 
pare for  me.  But  it  was  a  painful  journey,  all  the  same,  for 
at  each  instant  we  had  to  pull  up  to  allow  another  train  to 
pass,  or  an  engine  to  maneuver,  or  to  wait  to  pass  over  the 
points.  It  was  two  o'clock  in  the  morning  when  the  train  at 
last  reached  the  station  of  Menlo  Park,  the  residence  of  Thomas 
Edison. 

It  was  a  very  dark  night  and  the  snow  was  falling  silently 
in  heavy  flakes.  A  carriage  was  waiting  and  the  one  lamp  of 
this  carriage  served  to  light  up  the  whole  station,  for  orders 
had  been  given  that  the  electric  lights  should  be  put  out.     I 

393 


MKMOHIMS    OF    MY     LIFE 

fdiiiid  my  Wi\y  with  the  hclf)  (»f  Jarrt'tt  and  some  of  my  friends 
who  hiitl  accompanied  us  from  New  York.  The  intense  cohl 
fro/t'  the  snow  as  it  fell,  ;ind  we  walked  over  veritable  blocks 
(if  siiiu'p,  jajxfxod  ice,  which  crackled  under  our  feet.  Behind 
llie  lirst  carriage  was  another  heavier  one,  with  only  one  horse 
and  no  lamp.  There  was  room  for  five  or  six  persons  to  crowd 
into  this.  We  were  ten  in  all ;  Jarrett,  Abbey,  my  si.ster,  and 
I  took  our  places  in  the  first  one,  leaving  the  others  to  get  into 
the  second.  We  looked  like  a  band  of  conspirators,  the  dark 
night,  the  two  mysterious  carriages,  the  silence  caused  by  the 
icy  coldness,  the  way  in  which,  we  were  muffled  in  our  furs, 
and  our  anxious  expressions  as  we  glanced  around  us — all  this 
made  our  visit  to  the  celebrated  Edison  resemble  a  scene  out 
of  an  operetta. 

The  carriage  rolled  along,  sinking  deep  into  the  snow  and 
jolting  terribly;  the  jolts  made  us  dread  every  instant  some 
tragi-comic  accident.  I  cannot  tell  how  long  we  had  been 
rolling  along  for,  lulled  by  the  movement  of  the  carriage  and 
buried  in  my  warm  furs,  I  w^as  quietly  dozing  when  a  for- 
midable "  Hip-hip-hurrah!  "  made  us  all  jump,  my  traveling 
companions,  the  coachman,  the  horse,  and  I.  As  quick  as 
thought  the  whole  country  was  suddenly  illuminated.  Under 
the  trees,  on  the  trees,  among  the  bushes,  along  the  garden  walks, 
lights  flashed  forth  triumphantly.  The  wheels  of  the  carriage 
turned  a  few  times  more  and  then  drew  up  at  the  house  of 
the  famous  Thomas  Edison.  A  group  of  people  awaited  us  on 
the  veranda,  four  men,  tw^o  ladies,  and  a  young  girl.  My  heart 
began  to  beat  quickly  as  I  wondered  which  of  these  men  was 
Edison.  I  had  never  seen  his  photograph  and  I  had  the  great- 
est admiration  for  his  genius.  I  sprang  out  of  the  carriage 
and  the  dazzling  electric  light  made  it  seem  like  daytime  to 
us.  I  took  the  bouquet  which  IMrs.  Edison  offered  me  and 
thanked  her  for  it,  but  all  the  time  I  was  endeavoring  to  dis- 
cover which  of  these  was  the  Great  INIan.  They  all  four  ad- 
vaiiced  toward  me,  but  I  noticed  the  flush  that  came  into  the 
face  of  one  of  them  and  it  was  so  evident  from  the  expression 
of  his  blue  eyes  that  he  was  intensely  bored  that  I  guessed 

394 


NEW    YORK    AND    BOSTON 

this  was  Edison.  I  felt  confused  and  embarrassed  myself,  for 
I  knew  very  well  that  I  was  causing  inconvenience  to  this  man 
by  my  visit.  He,  of  course,  imagined  that  it  was  due  to  the 
idle  curiosity  of  a  foreigner,  eager  to  court  publicity.  He  was 
no  doubt  thinking  of  the  interviewing  in  store  for  him  the  fol- 
lowing day,  and  of  the  stupidities  he  would  be  made  to  utter. 
He  was  suffering  beforehand  at  the  idea  of  the  ignorant  ques- 
tions I  should  ask  him,  of  all  the  explanations  he  would,  out 
of  politeness,  be  obliged  to  give  me,  and  at  that  moment  Thomas 
Edison  took  a  dislike  to  me.  His  wonderful  blue  eyes,  more 
luminous  than  his  incandescent  lamps,  enabled  me  to  read  his 
thoughts.  I  immediately  understood  that  he  must  be  won  over, 
and  my  combative  instinct  had  recourse  to  all  my  powers  of 
fascination,  in  order  to  vanquish  this  delightful  but  bashful 
savant.  I  made  such  an  effort  and  succeeded  so  well  that, 
half  an  hour  later,  we  were  the  best  of  friends.  I  followed 
him  about  quickly,  climbing  up  staircases  as  narrow  and  steep 
as  ladders,  crossing  bridges  suspended  in  the  air  above  veritable 
furnaces,  and  he  explained  everything  to  me.  I  understood 
all,  and  I  admired  him  more  and  more,  for  he  was  so  simple 
and  charming,  this  king  of  light.  As  we  leaned  over  a  slightly 
unsteady  bridge,  above  the  terrible  abyss  in  which  immense 
wheels,  encased  in  wide  thongs,  were  turning,  tacking  about,  and 
rumbling,  he  gave  various  orders  in  a  clear  voice  and  light  then 
burst  forth  on  all  sides,  sometimes  in  sputtering,  greenish  jets, 
sometimes  in  quick  flashes  or  in  serpentine  trails  like  streams 
of  fire.  I  looked  at  this  man  of  medium  size,  with  rather  a 
large  head  and  a  noble-looking  profile,  and  I  thought  of  Na- 
poleon I.  There  is  certainly  a  great  physical  resemblance  be- 
tween these  two  men,  and  I  am  sure  that  one  compartment  of 
their  brain  would  be  found  to  be  identical.  Of  course  I  do 
not  compare  their  genius.  The  one  was  "  destructive  "  and 
the  other  "  creative,"  but  while  I  execrate  battles,  I  adore  vic- 
tories and,  in  spite  of  his  errors,  I  have  raised  an  altar  in  my 
heart  to  that  god  of  Glory,  Napoleon !  I  therefore  looked  at 
Edison  thoughtfully,  for  he  reminded  me  of  the  great  man  who 
was  dead.     The  deafening  sound  of  the  machinery,  the  dazzling 

395 


mi:m()KIi:s  oi'   y\\   lifi-: 

rapidity  of  tlie  chan<res  of  lijjfht — all  that  toj^othcr  madt;  my 
head  whirl  and,  for<icettin<<  where  I  was,  I  loaned  for  sui)port 
on  the  slif^ht  balustrade  which  separated  me  from  the  abyss 
beneath.  I  was  so  unconscious  of  all  danjjer  that,  before  I 
had  recovered  from  my  surprise,  Edison  had  helped  me  into 
an  adjoining  room  and  installed  me  in  an  armchair  without 
my  realizing  how  it  had  all  happened.  lie  told  me  afterwards 
that  I  had  turned  dizzy. 

After  having  done  the  honors  of  his  telephonic  discovery  and 
of  his  astonishing  phonograph,  Edison  offered  me  his  arm  and 
took  me  to  the  dining-room  where  I  found  his  family  assembled. 
I  was  very  tired  and  did  justice  to  the  supper  that  had  been 
so  hospitably  prepared  for  us. 

I  left  Menlo  Park  at  four  o'clock  in  the  morning  and  this 
time  the  country  round,  the  roads,  and  the  station  were  all 
lighted  up,  d  giorno,  by  the  thousands  of  jets  of  my  kind  host. 
What  a  strange  power  of  suggestion  the  darkness  has !  I 
thought  I  had  traveled  a  long  way  that  night,  and  it  seemed 
to  me  that  the  roads  were  impracticable.  It  proved  to  be  quite 
a  short  distance  and  the  roads  were  charming,  although  they 
were  covered  with  snow.  Imagination  had  played  a  great 
part  during  the  journey  to  Edison's  house,  but  reality  played 
a  much  greater  one  during  the  same  journey  back  to  the  station. 
I  was  enthusiastic  in  my  admiration  of  the  inventions  of  this 
man,  and  I  was  charmed  with  his  timid  graciousness  and  per- 
fect courtesy,  and  with  his  profound  love  of  Shakespeare. 

The  next  day  or  rather  that  same  day,  for  it  was  then  four 
in  the  morning,  I  started  after  my  company  for  Boston.  ]\Ir. 
Abbey,  my  impresario,  had  arranged  for  me  to  have  a  delight- 
ful ''  car,"  but  it  was  nothing  like  the  wonderful  Pullman  car 
that  I  was  to  have  from  Philadelphia  for  continuing  my  tour. 
I  was  very  much  pleased  with  this  one,  nevertheless.  In  the 
middle  of  the  room  there  was  a  real  bed,  large  and  comfortable, 
on  a  brass  bedstead.  Then  there  was  an  armchair,  a  pretty 
dressing  table,  a  basket  tied  up  with  ribbons  for  my  dog,  and 
flowers  everywhere,  but  flowers  without  overpowering  perfume. 
In  the  car  adjoining  mine  were  ni}^  own  servants,  who  were 

396 


NEW    YORK    AND    BOSTON 

also  very  comfortable.  I  went  to  bed  feeling  thoroughly  sat- 
isfied and  woke  up  at  Boston. 

A  large  crowd  was  assembled  at  the  station.  There  were  re- 
porters and  curious  men  and  women,  a  public  decidedly  more 
interested  than  friendly,  not  badly  intentioned  but  by  no  moans 
enthusiastic.  Public  opinion  in  New  York  had  been  greatly 
occupied  with  me  during  the  past  month.  I  had  been  so  much 
criticised  and  glorified.  Calumnies  of  all  kinds,  stupid  and 
disgusting,  foolish  and  odious,  had  been  circulated  about  me. 
Some  people  blamed  and  others  admired  the  disdain  with  which 
I  had  treated  these  turpitudas,  but  everyone  knew  that  I  had 
won  in  the  end,  and  that  I  had  triumphed  over  all  and  every- 
thing. Boston  knew,  too,  that  clergymen  had  preached  from 
their  pulpits  saying  that  I  had  been  sent  by  the  Old  World  to 
corrupt  the  New  World,  that  my  art  was  an  inspiration  from 
hell,  etc.,  etc.  Everyone  knew  all  this,  but  the  public  wanted 
to  see  for  itself.  Boston  belongs  especially  to  the  women. 
Tradition  says  that  it  was  a  woman  who  first  set  foot  in  Boston. 
Women  form  the  majority  there.  They  are  puritanical  with 
intelligence,  and  independent  with  a  certain  grace.  I  passed 
between  the  two  lines  formed  by  this  strange,  courteous,  and 
cold  crowd,  and,  just  as  I  was  about  to  get  into  my  carriage  a 
lady  advanced  toward  me  and  said:  *'  Welcome  to  Boston, 
madame. ' ' 

"  Welcome,  madame,"  and  she  held  out  a  soft  little  hand 
to  me.  (American  women  generally  have  charming  hands  and 
feet.)  Other  people  now  approached  and  smiled,  and  I  had  to 
shake  hands  with  many  of  them.  I  took  a  fancy  to  this  city 
at  once,  but  all  the  same  I  was  furious  for  a  moment  when  a 
reporter  sprang  on  to  the  steps  of  the  carriage  just  as  we  were 
driving  away.  He  was  in  a  greater  hurry  and  more  audacious 
than  any  of  the  others,  but  he  was  certainly  overstepping  the 
limits  and  I  pushed  the  wretched  man  back  angrily.  Jarrett 
was  prepared  for  this  and  saved  him  by  the  collar  of  his  coat; 
otherwise  he  would  have  fallen  down  on  the  pavement  as  he 
deserved. 

*'  At  what  time  will  you  come  and  get  on  the  whale  to- 

397 


MEMORIES    OF    MY    LIFE 

morrow?  "  this  cxti-iiordiiuiry  i)ersonage  asked.  I  i^azed  at  him 
in  iM'wildcriiicnt.  Ik'  spoke  French  perfectly  and  repeated  his 
question. 

"  He's  mad,"  I  .said  in  a  low  voice  to  Jarrett. 

"  \o,  iiiadame,  I  am  not  mad,  but  I  should  like  to  Imow  at 
wiiat  time  you  will  come  and  get  on  the  whale.  It  would  be 
better  perhaps  to  come  this  evening,  for  we  are  afraid  it  may 
die  in  the  night,  and  it  would  be  a  pity  for  you  not  to  come 
and  pay  it  a  visit  while  it  still  has  breath." 

He  went  on  talking,  and  as  he  talked,  he  half  seated  him- 
self beside  Jarrett  who  was  still  holding  him  by  the  collar,  lest 
he  should  fall  out  of  the  carriage. 

"But,  monsieur,"  I  exclaimed.  "What  do  you  mean? 
What  is  all  this  about  a  whale?  " 

"Ah!  madame,"  he  replied,  "it  is  admirable,  enormous. 
It  is  in  the  harbor  basin  and  there  are  men  employed  day  and 
night  to  break  the  ice  all  round  it." 

He  broke  off  suddenly  and  standing  on  the  carriage  step  he 
clutched  the  driver. 

"Stop!  Stop!"  he  called  out.  "Hi-Hi,  Henry— come 
here — here's  madame,  here  she  is!  " 

The  carriage  drew  up,  and  without  any  further  ceremony 
he  jumped  down  and  pushed  into  my  carriage  a  little  man, 
square  all  over,  who  was  wearing  a  fur  cap  pulled  down  over 
his  eyes,  and  an  enormous  diamond  in  his  cravat.  He  was  the 
strangest  type  of  the  old-fashioned  Yankee.  He  did  not  speak 
a  word  of  French,  but  he  took  his  seat  calmly  by  Jarrett,  while 
the  reporter  remained  half  sitting  and  half  hanging  on  to 
the  vehicle.  There  had  been  three  of  us  when  we  started  from 
the  station,  and  we  were  five  when  we  reached  the  Hotel  Ven- 
dome.  There  were  a  great  many  people  awaiting  my  arrival, 
and  I  was  quite  ashamed  of  my  new  companion.  He  talked  in 
a  loud  voice,  laughed,  coughed,  spat,  addressed  everyone,  and 
gave  everyone  invitations.  All  the  people  seemed  to  be  de- 
lighted. A  little  girl  threw  her  arms  round  her  father's  neck, 
exclaiming:  "  Oh,  yes,  papa,  do  please  let  us  go!  " 

"  Well,  but  we  must  ask  madame,"  he  replied  and  he  came 

398 


NEW    YORK   AND    BOSTON 

up  to  me  in  the  most  polite  and  courteous  manner.  "  Will 
you  kindly  allow  us  to  join  your  party  when  you  go  to  see 
the  whale  to-morrow  1  "he  asked. 

"  But,  monsieur,"  I  answered,  delighted  to  have  to  do  with 
a  gentleman  once  more,  "  I  have  no  idea  what  all  this  means. 
For  the  last  quarter  of  an  hour  this  reporter  and  that  ex- 
traordinary man  have  been  talking  about  a  whale.  They  de- 
clare, authoritatively,  that  I  must  go  and  pay  it  a  visit  and  I 
know  absolutely  nothing  about  it  at  all.  These  two  gentlemen 
took  my  carriage  by  storm,  installed  themselves  in  it  without 
my  permission  and,  as  yon  see,  are  giving  invitations  in  my 
name  to  people  I  do  not  know,  asking  them  to  go  with  me  to  a 
place  about  which  I  know  nothing,  for  the  purpose  of  paying 
a  visit  to  a  whale  which  is  to  be  introduced  to  me  and  which 
is  waiting  impatiently  to  die  in  peace." 

The  kindly  disposed  gentleman  signed  to  his  daughter  to 
come  with  us  and,  accompanied  by  them,  and  by  Jarrett,  and 
Mme.  Guerard,  I  went  up  in  an  elevator  to  the  door  of  my  suite 
of  rooms.  I  found  my  apartments  hung  with  valuable  pictures 
and  full  of  magnificent  statues.  I  felt  rather  disturbed  in  my 
mind,  for  among  these  objects  of  art  were  two  or  three  very 
rare  and  beautiful  things  which  I  knew  must  have  cost  an  ex- 
orbitant price.  I  was  afraid  lest  any  of  them  should  be  stolen 
and  I  spoke  of  my  fear  to  the  proprietor  of  the  hotel. 

"  Mr.  X ,  to  whom  the  knickknacks  belong,"  he  an- 
swered, "  wishes  you  to  have  them  to  look  at  as  long  as  you 
are  here,  mademoiselle,  and  when  I  expressed  my  anxiety  about 
them  to  him  just  as  you  have  done  to  me,  he  merely  remarked 
that  '  it  was  all  the  same  to  him. '  As  to  the  pictures,  they 
belong  to  two  wealthy  Bostonians."  There  was  among  them  a 
superb  IMillet  which  I  should  have  liked  very  much  to  own. 
After  expressing  my  gratitude,  and  admiring  these  treasures, 
I  asked  for  an  explanation  of  the  story  of  the  whale,  and  Mr. 
Max  Gordon,  the  father  of  the  little  girl,  translated  for  me 
what  the  little  man  in  the  fur  cap  had  said.  It  appeared  that 
he  owned  several  fishing  boats  which  he  sent  out  for  codfishing 
for   his   own  benefit.      One   of   these   boats   had    captured    an 

399 


MEMORIES    OF    MY    LIFE 

ciioniioiis  Avliiilo,  Avliicli  still  had  llie  two  harpoons  in  it.  The 
poor  creature,  thorouj^diiy  exhausted  with  its  struj^f^h'S,  was 
several  miles  farther  along  the  coast,  but  it  had  been  easy  to 
capture  it  and  bring  it  in  triumph  to  Henry  Smith,  the  owner 
of  the  boats.  It  was  difficult  to  say  by  what  freak  of  fancy 
and  by  what  turn  of  tlie  imagination  this  man  had  arrived 
at  associating  in  his  mind  the  idea  of  the  whale  and  my  name 
as  a  source  of  wealth.  I  could  not  understand  it,  but  the 
fact  remained  that  he  insisted  in  such  a  droll  way  and  so 
authoritatively  and  energetically  that  the  following  morning 
at  seven  o'clock,  fifty  persons  assembled,  in  spite  of  the  icy- 
cold  rain,  to  visit  the  basin  of  the  quay.  Mr.  Gordon  had 
given  orders  that  his  mail  coach  with  four  beautiful  horses 
should  be  in  readiness.  He  drove  himself,  and  his  daughter, 
Jarrett,  my  sister,  INIme.  Guerard,  and  another  elderly  lady, 
whose  name  I  have  forgotten,  were  with  us.  Seven  other  car- 
riages followed.  It  was  all  very  amusing  indeed.  On  our  ar- 
rival at  the  quay,  we  were  received  by  this  comic  Henry,  shaggy 
looking  this  time  from  head  to  foot,  and  his  hands  encased  in 
fingerless  woolen  gloves.  Only  his  eyes  and  his  huge  diamond 
shone  out  from  his  furs.  I  walked  along  the  quay,  very  much 
amused  and  interested.  There  were  a  few  idlers  looking  on 
also  and  alas !  three  times  over  alas ! — there  \vere  reporters. 
Henry's  shagg}^  paw  then  seized  my  hand  and  he  drew  me  along 
with  him  quickly  to  the  staircase.  I  barely  escaped  breaking 
my  neck  at  least  a  dozen  times.  He  pushed  me  along,  made 
me  stumble  down  the  ten  steps  of  the  basin  and  I  next  found 
mj^self  on  the  back  of  the  whale.  They  assured  me  that  it  stiU 
breathed;  I  should  not  like  to  affirm  that  it  really  did,  but  the 
splashing  of  the  water  breaking  its  eddy  against  the  poor 
creature  caused  it  to  oscillate  slightly.  Then,  too,  it  was  covered 
with  glazed  frost,  and  twice  I  fell  down  full  length  on  its 
spine.  I  laugh  about  it  now,  but  I  was  furious  then.  Every- 
one around  me  insisted,  however,  on  my  pulling  a  piece  of 
the  shattered  whalebone  from  the  mouth  of  the  poor  wounded 
creature,  a  sliver  of  that  bone  from  which  those  little  ribs  are 
made  which  are  used  for  women's  corsets.     I  did  not  like  to 

400 


NEW    YORK    AND    BOSTON 

do  this,  as  I  feared  to  cause  it  suffering  and  I  was  sorry  for 
the  poor  thing,  as  three  of  us,  Henry,  the  little  Gordon  girl, 
and  I,  had  been  skating  about  on  its  back  for  the  last  ten  min- 
utes. Finally,  I  decided  to  do  it.  I  pulled  out  the  little  piece 
of  whalebone  and  went  up  the  steps  again,  holding  my  poor 
trophy  in  my  hand,  I  felt  nervous  and  flustered,  and  every- 
one surrounded  me.  I  was  annoyed  with  this  man.  I  did  not 
want  to  return  to  the  coach,  as  I  thought  I  could  hide  my  bad 
temper  better  in  one  of  the  huge,  gloomy-looking  landaus  which 
followed,  but  the  charming  Miss  Gordon  asked  me  so  sweetly 
why  I  would  not  drive  with  them,  that  I  felt  my  anger  melt 
away  before  the  child's  smiling  face. 

"  Would  you  like  to  drive?  "  her  father  asked  me,  and  I 
accepted  with  pleasure. 

Jarrett  immediately  proceeded  to  get  down  from  the  coach 
as  quickly  as  his  age  and  corpulence  would  allow  him, 

"  If  you  are  going  to  drive  I  prefer  getting  down,"  he 
said,  and  he  took  his  place  in  another  carriage.  I  changed  seats 
boldly  with  Mr.  Gordon  in  order  to  drive,  and  we  had  not  gone 
a  hundred  yards  before  I  had  let  the  horses  make  for  a  chemist's 
shop  along  the  quay  and  got  the  coach  itself  up  on  to  the  foot- 
path, so  that  if  it  had  not  been  for  the  quickness  and  energy 
of  Mr,  Gordon  w^e  should  all  have  been  killed.  On  arriving  at 
the  hotel,  I  went  to  bed  and  stayed  there  until  it  was  time  for 
the  theater  in  the  evening. 


27  401 


CHAPTER    XXVII 


I    VISIT    MONTREAL 


JE  played  "  Hernani  "  that  night  to  a  full  house. 
The  seats  had  been  sold  to  the  highest  bidders,  and 
considerable  prices  were  obtained  for  them.  We 
gave  fifteen  performances  at  Boston  at  an  average 
of  19,000  francs  for  each  performance.  I  was  sorry  to  leave 
that  city,  as  I  had  spent  two  charming  weeks  there,  my  mind 
all  the  time  on  the  alert  when  holding  conversations  with  the 
Boston  women.  They  are  Puritans  from  the  crown  of  the 
head  to  the  sole  of  the  foot,  but  they  are  indulgent  and  there 
is  no  bitterness  about  their  puritanism.  What  struck  me  most 
about  the  women  of  Boston  was  the  harmony  and  softness  of 
their  gestures.  Brought  up  among  the  severest  and  harshest 
of  traditions,  the  Bostonian  race  seems  to  me  to  be  the  most 
refined  and  the  most  mysterious  of  all  the  American  races.  As 
the  women  are  in  the  majority  in  Boston,  many  of  the  young 
girls  will  remain  unmarried.  All  their  vital  forces  which  they 
cannot  expend  in  love  and  in  maternity  they  employ  in  fortify- 
ing and  making  supple  the  beauty  of  their  body,  by  means  of 
exercise  and  sports,  without  losing  any  of  their  grace.  All  the 
reserves  of  heart  are  expended  in  intellectuality.  They  adore 
music,  the  theater,  literature,  painting,  and  poetry.  They 
know  everything  and  understand  everything,  are  chaste  and 
reserved,  and  neither  laugh  nor  talk  very  loudly. 

They  are  as  far  removed  from  the  Latin  race  as  the  North 
Pole  is  from  the  South  Pole,  but  they  are  interesting,  delightful, 
and  captivating. 

402 


SARAH    BERNHARDT   Ari   DUX  A    SOL   IN    "HERNAM." 


I    VISIT    MONTREAL 

It  was,  therefore,  with  a  rather  heavy  heart  that  I  left 
Boston  for  New  Haven,  and  to  my  great  surprise  on  arriving 
at  the  hotel  at  New  Haven,  I  found  Henry  Smith  there,  the 
famous  whale  man.  ' '  Oh,  heavens !  "  I  exclaimed,  flinging  my- 
self into  an  armchair,  "  what  does  this  man  want  now  with 
me?  " 

I  was  not  left  in  ignorance  very  long  for  the  most  infernal 
noise  of  brass  instruments,  drums,  trumpets,  and  I  should  think 
saucepans,  drew  me  to  the  window.  I  saw  an  immense  car- 
riage surrounded  by  an  escort  of  negroes  dressed  as  minstrels. 
On  this  carriage  was  an  abominable,  monstrous,  colored  ad- 
vertisement representing  me  standing  on  the  whale,  tearing 
away  its  blade  while  it  struggled  to  defend  itself.  Some  sand- 
wich men  followed  with  posters  on  which  were  written  the  fol- 
lowing words:  "Come  and  see  the  enormous  cetacea  which 
Sarah  Bernhardt  killed  by  tearing  out  its  whalebone  for  her 
corsets.  These  are  made  by  Mme.  Lily  Noe  who  lives,  etc." 
Still  other  sandwich  men  carried  posters  with  these  words: 
"  The  whale  is  just  as  flourishing  (sic)  as  when  it  was  alive. 
It  has  five  hundred  dollars'  worth  of  salt  in  its  stomach,  and 
every  day  the  ice  upon  which  it  was  resting  is  renewed  at  a 
cost  of  one  hundred  dollars !  ' ' 

My  face  turned  more  livid  than  that  of  a  corpse  and  my 
teeth  chattered  with  fury  on  seeing  this.  Henry  Smith  ad- 
vanced toward  me  and  I  struck  him  in  my  anger,  and  then 
rushed  away  to  my  room,  where  I  sobbed  with  vexation,  disgust, 
and  utter  weariness.  I  wanted  to  start  back  to  Europe  at  once, 
but  Jarrett  showed  me  my  contract.  I  then  wanted  to  take 
steps  to  have  this  odious  exhibition  stopped  and  in  order  to 
calm  me,  I  was  promised  that  this  should  be  done,  but  in  reality 
nothing  was  done  at  all.  Two  days  later  I  was  at  Hartford 
and  the  same  whale  was  there.  It  continued  its  tour  as  I  con- 
tinued mine.  They  gave  it  more  salt,  and  renewed  its  ice,  and 
it  went  on  its  way,  so  that  I  came  across  it  everywhere.  I 
took  proceedings  about  it,  but  in  every  state  I  was  obliged  to 
begin  all  over  again,  as  the  law  varied  in  the  different  states. 
And  every  time  I  arrived  at  a  fresh  hotel  I  foimd  there  an 

403 


:me]mories  of  my  tjfe 

immense  bonqnet  awaiting  mo  witli  the  horriljlf  eard  of  the 
showman  of  the  whah'.  I  threw  his  flowers  on  the  ground  and 
trampled  on  them,  and  much  as  I  love  flowers,  I  had  a  horror 
of  these.  Jarrett  went  to  see  the  man  and  begged  him  not  to 
send  me  any  more  boiKjuets,  but  it  was  all  of  no  use  as  it  was  the 
man's  way  of  avenging  the  box  on  the  ears  I  had  given  him. 
Then,  too,  he  could  not  understand  my  anger.  He  was  making 
any  amount  of  money  and  had  even  proposed  that  I  should 
accept  a  percentage  of  the  receipts.  Ah !  I  would  willingly  have 
killed  that  execrable  Smith,  for  he  was  poisoning  my  life.  I 
could  see  nothing  else  in  all  the  different  cities  I  visited,  and  I 
used  to  shut  my  eyes  on  the  way  from  the  hotel  to  the  theater. 
When  I  heard  the  minstrels  I  used  to  fly  into  a  rage  and 
turn  green  with  anger.  Fortunately,  I  was  able  to  rest  when 
once  I  reached  JMontreal,  where  I  was  not  followed  by  this 
show.  I  should  certainly  have  been  ill  if  it  had  continued,  as  I 
saw  nothing  but  that,  I  could  think  of  nothing  else,  and  my  very 
dreams  were  about  it.  It  haunted  me,  it  was  an  obsession  and 
a  perpetual  nightmare.  When  I  left  Hartford,  Jarrett  swore 
to  me  that  Smith  w^ould  not  be  at  ^Montreal  as  he  had  been  taken 
suddenly  ill.  I  strongly  suspected  that  Jarrett  had  found  a 
M^ay  of  administering  to  him  some  violent  kind  of  medicine 
which  had  stopped  his  journeying  for  the  time.  I  felt  sure  of 
this,  as  the  ferocious  gentleman  laughed  so  heartily  en  route, 
but  anyhow  I  was  infinitely  grateful  to  him  for  ridding  me 
of  the  man  for  the  present. 

For  a  long  time,  ever  since  my  earliest  childhood,  I  had 
dreamed  about  Canada.  I  had  always  heard  my  godfather  re- 
gret, with  considerable  fury,  the  surrender  of  that  territory 
by  France  to  England. 

I  had  heard  him  enumerate,  without  very  clearlj^  under- 
standing them,  the  pecuniary  advantages  of  Canada,  the  im- 
mense fortune  that  lay  in  its  lands,  etc  .  .  .  and  that  country 
had  seemed  to  my  imagination  the  far-off  promised  laud. 

Awakened  some  considerable  time  previous  by  the  strident 
whistle  of  the  engine,  I  asked  what  time  it  was.  Eleven  o'clock, 
I  was  informed.     We  were  within  fifteen  minutes  of  the  station. 

404 


I    VISIT    MONTREAL 

The  sky  was  black  and  smooth,  like  a  steel  shield.  Lanterns 
placed  at  distant  intervals  canght  the  whiteness  of  the  snow 
heaped  up  there  for  how  many  days!  .  .  ,  The  train  stopped 
suddenly  and  then  started  again  with  such  a  slow  and  timid 
movement  that  I  fancied  that  there  might  be  a  possibility  of 
its  running  off  the  rails.  But  a  deadened  sound,  growing 
louder  every  second,  fell  upon  my  attentive  ears.  This  sound 
soon  resolved  itself  into  music  .  .  .  and  it  was  in  the  midst  of 
a  formidable  "  Hurrah!  Long  live  France!  "  shouted  by  ten 
thousand  throats,  strengthened  by  an  orchestra  playing  the 
"  Marseillaise  "  with  a  frenzied  fury,  that  we  made  our  entry 
into  Montreal. 

The  place  where  the  train  stopped  in  those  days  was  very 
narrow.  A  somewhat  high  bank  served  as  a  rampart  for  the 
slight  platform  of  the  station. 

Standing  on  the  small  step  of  my  carriage,  I  looked  with 
emotion  upon  the  strange  spectacle  I  had  before  me.  The  bank 
was  packed  with  bears  holding  lanterns.  There  were  hundreds 
and  hundreds  of  them.  In  the  narrow  space  between  the  bank 
and  the  train  which  had  come  to  a  stop,  there  were  more  bears, 
large  and  small  .  .  .  and  I  wondered  with  terror  how  I  should 
manage  to  reach  my  sleigh. 

Jarrett  and  Abbey  caused  the  crowd  to  make  way  and  I 
got  out.  But  a  deputy  whose  name  I  cannot  make  out  in  my 
notes  (what  commendation  for  my  writing!) — a  deputy  ad- 
vanced toward  me  and  handed  me  an  address  signed  by  the 
notabilities  of  the  city.  I  returned  thanks  as  best  I  could,  and 
took  the  magnificent  bouquet  of  flowers  that  was  tendered  in 
the  name  of  the  signatories  to  the  address.  When  I  lifted  the 
flowers  to  my  face  in  order  to  smell  them,  I  hurt  myself  slightly 
with  their  pretty  petals  frozen  by  the  cold. 

However,  I  began  to  feel  both  arms  and  legs  were  getting 
benumbed.  The  cold  crept  over  my  whole  body.  That  night, 
it  appears,  was  one  of  the  coldest  that  had  been  experienced 
for  many  years  past. 

The  women  who  had  come  to  be  present  at  the  arrival  of  the 
French  company  had  been  compelled  to  withdraw  into  the  in- 

405 


MEMOKIKS    or    MV    LIFE 

tcrior  of  tlic  station,  with  the  exception  of  Mrs.  Joseph  Doutro, 
who  haiKli'd  me  a  bouquet  of  rare  flowers  and  t^ave  me  a  kiss. 
It  was  twenty-two  degrees  below  zero.  I  whisi)ered  1(jw  to 
Jarrett : 

"  Let  us  continue  our  journey,  I  am  turning'  into  ice.  In 
ten  minutes  I  shall  not  be  able  to  move  a  step." 

Jarrett  repeated  my  words  to  Abbey  who  applied  to  the 
chief  of  police.  The  latter  gave  orders  in  English  and  another 
police  officer  repeated  them  in  French.  And  we  were  able  to 
proceed  for  a  few  yards.  But  the  station  was  still  some  way 
off.  The  crowd  grew  bigger,  and  at  one  time  I  felt  as  though 
I  were  about  to  faint.  I  took  courage,  however,  holding  or 
rather  hanging  on  to  the  arms  of  Jarrett  and  Abbey.  Every 
minute  I  thought  I  should  fall,  for  the  platform  was  covered 
with  ice. 

We  were  obliged,  however,  to  stay  further  progress.  A  him- 
dred  lanterns,  held  aloft  by  a  hundred  students'  hands,  sud- 
denly lit  up  the  place. 

A  tall  young  man  separated  himself  from  the  group  and 
came  straight  toward  me  holding  a  wide  unrolled  piece  of  paper, 
and  in  a  loud  voice  exclaimed:  "  To  Sarah  Bernhardt.  ,  .  ." 
And  these  are  the  lines  he  read : 

A   Sarah   Bernhardt 

Salut,  Sarah !  salut  charmante  Dofta  Sol ! 
Lorsque  ton  pied  mignon  vient  fouler  notre  sol, 

Notre  sol  tout  couvert  de  givre, 
Est-ce  un  frisson  d'orgueil  ou  d'amour  ?   je  ne  sais; 
Mais  nous  sentons  courir  dans  notre  sang  frangais, 

Quelque  chose  qui  nous  enivre ! 

Femme  vaillante  au  cceur  sature  d'ideal, 
Puisque  tu  n'as  pas  craint  notre  ciel  boreal, 

Ni  redouts  nos  froids  s^veres, 
Merci !  De  I'apre  hiver  pour  longtemps  prisonniers, 
Nous  revons  a  ta  vue  aux  rayons  printaniers 

Qui  font  fleurir  les  primeveres ! 

406 


I    VISIT    MONTREAL 

Oui,  c'est  au  doux  printemps  que  tu  nous  fais'rever ! 
Oiseau  des  pays  bleus,  lorsque  tu  viens  braver 

L'horreur  de  nos  saisons  perfides, 
Aux  clairs  rayonnements  d'  un  chaud  soleil  de  Mai, 
Nous  croyons  voir,  du  fond  d'un  bosquet  parfume, 

Surgir  la  reine  des  sylphides. 

Mais  non :  de  floreal  ni  du  blond  Messidor, 
Tu  n'est  pas,  6  Sarah,  la  fee  aux  ailes  d'or 

Qui  vient  repandre  I'ambroisie, 
Nous  saluons  en  toi  I'artiste  radieux 
Qui  sut  cueillir  d'assaut  dans  le  jardin  des  dieux 

Toutes  les  fleurs  de  poesie ! 

Que  sous  ta  main  la  toile  anime  son  reseau ; 
Que  le  paron  brillant  vive  sous  ton  ciseau, 

Ou  I'argile  sous  ton  doigt  rose ; 
Que  sur  la  scene,  au  bruit  delirant  des  bravos, 
En  types  toujours  vrais,  quoique  toujours  nouveaux, 

Ton  talent  se  metamorphose ; 

Soit  que,  peintre  admirable  ou  sculpteur  souverain, 
Toi-raeme  oses  ravir  la  muse  au  front  serein, 

A  te  sourire  toujours  pretee ! 
Soit  qu'aux  mille  vivate  de  la  foule  a  genoux, 
Des  grands  maitres  anciens  ou  modernes,  pour  nous 

Ta  voix  se  fasse  I'interprete ; 

Des  bords  de  la  Tamise  aux  bords  du  Saint-Laurent, 
Qu'il  soit  enfant  du  peuple  ou  brille  au  premier  rang, 

Laissant  glapir  la  calomnie. 
Tour  a  tour  par  ton  oeuvre  et  ta  grace  enchants 
Chacun  courbe  le  front  devant  la  majesty 

De  ton  universal  genie ! 

Salut  done,  6  Sarah !  salut,  6  Dofia  Sol ! 
Lorsque  ton  pied  mignon  vient  fouler  notre  sol, 

Te  montrer  de  I'indifference 
Serait  a  notre  sang  nous-memes  faire  affront; 
Car  r6toile  qui  luit  la  plus  belle  a  ton  front, 

C'est  encore  celle  de  la  France ! 

407 


mi:m()hii:s  oi'  yw   lii'k 

IIo  read  very  wi'II,  it  is  true,  but  those  lines,  read  with  a 
tcinperHtiire  of  twenty-two  tlcj^rcra  of  cold,  to  a  poor  woman 
dunifoundod  throuf^h  listening  to  a  frenzied  "  Marseillaise," 
stunned  by  the  mad  hurrahs  from  ten  thousand  thi'oats  delirious 
with  patriotic  fervor,  were  more  than  my  strenj^th  could  bear, 
made  me  feel  dizzy,  and  caused  my  head  to  reel. 

I  made  superhuman  efforts  at  resistanee,  but  was  over- 
whelmed with  fatigue.  Everything  appeared  to  be  turning 
round  in  a  mad  farandole.  I  felt  myself  raised  from  the 
ground  and  heard  a  voice  which  seemed  to  come  from  far  away 
— "  IMake  room  for  our  French  lady.  ..."  Then  I  heard  noth- 
ing further  and  only  recovered  my  senses  in  my  room  at  the 
Hotel  Windsor, 

My  sister  Jeanne  had  become  separated  from  me  by  the 
movement  of  the  crowd.  But  the  poet  Frechette,  a  French- 
Canadian,  became  her  escort  and  brought  her  several  minutes 
after,  safe  and  sound,  but  trembling  on  my  account,  and  this 
is  what  she  told  me — "  Just  imagine.  When  the  crowd  was 
pressing  against  you,  seized  with  terror  on  seeing  j'our  head 
fall  back  with  closed  eyes  on  to  Abbey 's  shoulder,  I  shouted  out 
*  Help.  My  sister  is  being  killed.'  I  had  become  mad.  A 
man  of  enormous  size  who  had  followed  us  for  a  long  time 
worked  his  elbows  and  hips  to  make  the  enthusiastic  but  over- 
Avrought  mob  give  way,  with  a  quick  movement  placed  him- 
self before  you,  jast  in  time  to  prevent  you  from  falling.  The 
man,  whose  face  I  could  not  see  on  account  of  its  being  hidden 
beneath  a  fur  cap,  the  ear  flaps  of  which  covered  almost  his  en- 
tire face,  raised  you  up  as  though  you  had  been  a  flower,  and 
held  forth  to  the  crowd  in  English,  I  did  not  understand  any- 
thing he  said,  but  the  Canadians  were  struck  with  it,  for  the 
pushing  ceased,  and  the  crowd  separated  into  two  compact  files 
in  order  to  let  you  pass  through.  I  can  assure  you  that  it  made 
me  feel  quite  impressed  to  see  you  so  slender,  with  your  head 
back  and  the  whole  of  your  poor  frame  borne  at  arms'  length 
by  that  Hercules.  I  followed  as  fast  as  I  could,  but  ha\4ng 
caught  my  foot  in  the  flounce  of  my  skirt  I  had  to  stop  for  a 
second,  and  that  second  was  enough  to  separate  us  completely. 

408 


I    VISIT    MONTREAL 

"  The  crowd  having  closed  up  after  your  passage,  formed 
an  impenetrable  barrier.  I  can  assure  you,  dear  sister,  that  I 
felt  anything  but  at  ease,  and  it  was  Mr.  Frechette  who  saved 
me." 

I  shook  the  hand  of  that  worthy  gentleman  and  thanked 
him  this  time  as  well  as  I  could  for  his  fine  poem,  then  I  spoke 
to  him  of  his  other  poems,  a  volume  of  which  I  had  obtained  at 
New  York,  for,  alas!  to  my  shame  I  must  acknowledge  it,  I 
knew  nothing  about  Frechette  up  to  the  time  of  my  departure 
from  France,  and  yet  he  was  already  known  a  little  in  Paris. 

He  was  very  touched  with  the  several  lines  I  dwelt  upon  as 
the  finest  of  his  work.  He  thanked  me  for  doing  so.  We  re- 
mained friends. 

The  day  following,  nine  o'clock  had  hardly  struck,  when 
a  card  was  sent  up  to  me  on  which  were  written  these  words: 
"  He  who  had  the  joy  of  saving  you,  madame,  begs  that  your 
kindness  will  grant  him  a  moment's  interview."  I  directed 
that  the  man  be  shown  into  the  drawing-room,  and  after  notify- 
ing Jarrett,  went  to  waken  my  sister.  ' '  Come  with  me, ' '  I  said. 
She  slipped  on  a  Chinese  dressing  gown  and  we  went  in  the 
direction  of  the  huge,  immense  drawing-room  of  my  apartment, 
for  a  bicycle  would  have  been  necessary  to  traverse  my  rooms, 
drawing-rooms  and  dining-room,  for  the  whole  length  without 
fatigue.  On  opening  the  door  I  was  struck  with  the  beauty  of 
the  man  who  was  before  me.  He  was  very  tall,  with  wide 
shoulders,  small  head,  a  hard  look,  hair  thick  and  curly,  tanned 
complexion.  The  man  was  fine  looking  but  seemed  uneasy.  He 
blushed  slightly  on  seeing  me.  I  expressed  my  gratitude  and 
asked  to  be  excused  for  my  foolish  weakness.  I  received  .joy- 
fully the  bouquet  of  violets  he  handed  me.  On  taking  leave  he 
said  in  a  low  tone:  "  If  ever  you  hear  who  I  am,  swear  that 
you  will  only  think  of  the  slight  service  I  have  rendered  you." 
At  that  moment  Jarrett  entered  with  white  face.  He  went 
up  to  the  stranger  and  spoke  to  him  in  English.  I  could,  how- 
ever, catch  the  words:  "  detective  .  .  .  door  .  .  .  assassination 
.  .  .  impossibility  .  .  .  New  Orleans.  ..." 

His  sunburnt  complexion  became  chalky,  his  nostrils  quiv- 

409 


mi:m()Uiks  of  mv   lttk 

crod  fis  ln'  looked  toward  the  door.  Then,  fis  flifrht  appoarod 
impossibk',  hv  looked  at  Jarrett  and  in  a  peremptory  tone,  as 
cold  as  flint,  said  "  Well  "  as  he  went  toward  the  door.  My 
hands,  Avhieh  had  opened  under  the  stupor,  let  fall  his  bouquet 
which  he  picked  up,  looking  at  nie  with  a  supplicating  and  ap- 
pealing air.  I  understood  and  said  to  him  in  a  loud  tone  of 
voice,  "  I  swear  to  it,  monsieur."  The  man  disappeared  with 
his  flowers.  I  heard  the  uproar  of  peoi)le  behind  the  door,  and 
of  the  crowd  in  the  street.  I  did  not  wish  to  listen  to  anything 
further. 

When  my  sister,  of  a  romantic  and  foolish  turn  of  mind, 
wished  to  tell  me  about  the  horrible  thing,  I  closed  my  ears. 

Four  months  afterwards,  when  an  attempt  was  made  to 
read  aloud  to  me  an  account  of  his  death  by  hanging  I  refased 
to  hear  anything  about  it.  And  now  after  twenty-six  years  have 
passed  and  I  know,  I  only  wish  to  remember  the  service  rendered 
and  my  pledged  word.  This  incident  left  me  somewhat  sad. 
The  anger  of  the  Bishop  of  Montreal  w^as  necessary  to  enable 
me  to  regain  my  good  humor.  That  prelate,  after  holding  forth 
in  the  pulpit  against  the  immorality  of  French  literature,  for- 
bade his  flock  to  go  to  the  theater.  His  charge  was  violent  and 
spiteful  against  modern  France.  As  to  Scribe's  play,  "  Adri- 
enne  Lecouvreur,"  he  tore  it  into  shreds,  as  it  were,  dis- 
claiming against  the  immoral  love  of  the  comedienne  and  of  the 
hero  and  against  the  adulterous  love  of  the  Princess  of  Bouillon. 
But  the  truth  showed  itself  in  spite  of  all,  and  he  cried  out  with 
fury  intensified  by  outrage — "  In  this  infamous  lucubration 
there  are  French  authors,  a  court  abbe  who,  thanks  to  the  un- 
bounded licentiousness  of  his  expressions,  constitutes  a  direct 
insult  to  the  clergy."  Finally,  he  pronounced  an  anathema 
against  Scribe,  who  w^as  already  dead,  against  Legouve,  against 
me,  and  against  all  my  company.  The  result  was  that  crowds 
came  from  everywhere,  and  the  four  presentations,  "  Adrienne 
Lecouvreur,"  "  Froufrou,"  "  La  Dame  aux  Camelias  "  (after- 
noon performance),  and  "  Hernani,"  had  a  colossal  success  and 
brought  in  fabulous  receipts. 

I  was  invited  by  the  poet  Frechette  and  a  banker  whose 

410 


I    VISIT    MONTREAL 

name  I  do  not  remember  to  make  a  visit  to  Ottawa.  I  accepted 
with  joy,  and  went  there  accompanied  by  my  sister,  Jarrett, 
and  Angelo,  who  w^as  always  ready  for  a  dangerous  excursion; 
I  felt  in  safety  in  the  presence  of  that  artist,  full  of  bravery 
and  composure,  and  gifted  with  herculean  strength.  The  only 
thing  he  lacked  to  make  him  perfect  was  talent.  He  had  none 
then  and  never  did  have  any. 

The  St.  Lawrence  River  was  frozen  over  almost  entirely; 
we  crossed  it  in  a  carriage  along  a  route  indicated  on  the  river 
by  two  rows  of  branches  fixed  in  the  ice.  "We  had  four  car- 
riages; the  distance  between  Ottawa  and  Montreal  is  one  hun- 
dred and  twenty-five  kilometers. 

This  visit  to  the  Iroquois  was  deliciously  enchanting.  I  was 
introduced  to  the  chief,  father,  and  mayor  of  the  Iroquois  tribes. 
Alas!  this  former  chief,  son  of  *'  Big  White  Eagle,"  surnamed 
during  his  childhood  "  Sun  of  the  Nights,"  now  clothed  in 
sorry  European  rags,  was  selling  liquor,  thread,  needles,  flax, 
pork  fat,  chocolate,  etc.  All  that  remained  of  his  mad  rovings 
through  the  old  wild  forests — ^when  he  roamed  naked  over  a 
laud  free  of  all  allegiance — was  the  stupor  of  the  bull  held 
prisoner  by  the  horns.  It  is  true  he  also  sold  brandy  and  that 
he  quenched  his  thirst,  as  did  all  of  them,  at  that  source  of 
forgetfulness. 

"  Sun  of  the  Nights  "  introduced  me  to  his  daughter,  a  girl 
of  eighteen  to  twenty  years  of  age,  insipid  and  devoid  of  beauty 
and  grace.  She  sat  down  at  the  piano  and  played  a  tune  that 
was  popular  at  the  time — I  do  not  remember  what.  I  was  in 
a  hurry  to  leave  the  store — ^the  home  of  these  two  victims  of 
civilization. 

I  visited  Ottawa,  but  found  no  pleasure  in  it.  The  same 
compression  of  the  throat,  the  same  retrospective  anguish  caused 
me  to  revolt  against  man's  cowardice  which  hid  under  the 
name  of  civilization  the  most  unjust  and  most  protected  of 
crimes. 

I  returned  to  Montreal  somewhat  sad  and  tired.  The  suc- 
cess of  our  four  performances  was  extraordinary,  but  what 
gave  them  a  special  charm  in  my  eyes  was  the  infernal  and 

411 


MEMORIES    Ol'    MV    LIFE 

joyous  noiso  iniulc  by  llic  sliidciils.  'I'lic  doors  of  tlif  I  Inhaler 
uci'c  oprncd  every  day  one  lioui-  in  advance  Tor  tliein.  Tlicy 
tlien  arranged  matters  to  suit  themselves.  Most  of  them  were 
gifted  with  iiia.i;nilieent  voices.  They  separated  into  groups 
according  to  the  requirements  of  the  songs  they  wished  to  sing. 
'J'hen  then  prepared  by  means  of  a  strong  string  worked  by  a 
pulley  the  aerial  route  that  was  to  be  followed  by  the  flower- 
bedeeked  baskets  which  descended  from  th(Mr  paradise  to  where 
I  was.  They  tied  ribbons  round  the  necks  of  doves  bearing 
sonnets  and  wishes. 

These  flowers  and  birds  were  sent  off  during  the  "  calls," 
and  by  a  happy  disposition  of  the  strings  the  flowers  fell  at 
my  feet,  the  doves  flew  where  their  astonishment  led  them,  and 
every  evening  these  messages  of  grace  and  beauty  were  repeated. 
I  experienced  considerable  emotion  the  first  evening.  The  ]\Iar- 
quis  of  Lome,  son-in-law  of  Queen  Victoria,  Governor  of 
Canada,  was  of  royal  punctuality.  The  students  knew  it.  The 
house  was  noisy  and  quivering.  Through  an  opening  in  the 
curtain  I  gazed  on  the  composition  of  this  assembly.  All  of  a 
sudden  a  silence  came  over  it  without  any  outward  reason  for 
it,  and  the  "  Marseillaise  "  was  sung  by  three  hundred  warm, 
young,  male  voices.  With  a  courtesy  full  of  grandeur  the  govern- 
or stood  up  at  the  first  notes  of  our  national  hymn.  The  whole 
house  was  on  its  feet  in  a  second,  and  the  magnificent  anthem 
echoed  in  our  hearts  like  a  call  from  the  mother  country.  I  do 
not  believe  I  ever  heard  the  "  Marseillaise  "  sung  with  keener 
emotion  and  unanimity.  As  soon  as  it  was  over,  the  plaudits 
of  the  crowd  broke  out  three  times  over,  then,  upon  a  sharp 
gesture  from  the  governor,  the  band  played  "  God  Save  the 
Queen. ' ' 

I  never  saw  a  prouder  and  more  dignified  gesture  than  that 
of  the  governor  when  he  motioned  to  the  leader  of  the  band. 
He  was  quite  willing  to  allow  these  sons  of  submissive  French- 
men to  feel  a  regret,  perhaps  even  a  flickering  hope.  The  first 
on  his  feet,  he  listened  to  that  fine  plaint  with  respect,  but  he 
smothered  its  last  echo  beneath  the  English  national  anthem. 
Being  English,  he  was  iucontestably  right  in  doing  so. 

412 


I    VISIT    MONTREAL 

I  gave  for  the  last  performance,  on  the  25th  December, 
Christmas  Day,  "  Hernani." 

The  Bishop  of  Llontreal  again  thundered  against  me,  against 
Scribe  and  Legouve,  and  the  poor  artistes  who  had  come  with 
me  who  could  not  help  it.  I  do  not  know  whether  he  did  not 
even  threaten  to  excommunicate  all  of  us,  living  and  dead. 
Lovers  of  France  and  French  art,  in  order  to  reply  to  his 
abusive  attack,  unyoked  my  horses,  and  my  sleigh  was  almost 
carried  by  an  immense  crowd  among  which  were  the  deputies 
and  notabilities  of  the  city. 

One  has  only  to  consult  the  daily  papers  of  that  period  to 
realize  the  crushing  effect  caused  by  such  a  triumphant  return 
to  my  hotel. 

The  day  following,  Sunday,  I  left  the  hotel  at  seven  o'clock 
in  the  morning  with  Jarrett  and  my  sister,  for  a  promenade 
on  the  banks  of  the  St.  Lawrence  River.  At  a  given  moment  I 
ordered  the  carriage  to  stop  with  the  object  of  walking  a  little 
way. 

My  sister  laughingly  said,  "  What  if  we  climb  on  to  the 
large  piece  of  ice  that  seems  ready  to  crack?  "  No  sooner 
thought  of  than  done.  And  behold,  both  of  us  walking  on  the 
ice  trying  to  break  it  loose.  All  of  a  sudden,  a  loud  shout  from 
Jarrett  made  us  understand  that  we  had  succeeded.  As  a  mat- 
ter of  fact,  our  ice  bark  was  already  floating  free  in  the  narrow 
channel  of  the  river  that  remained  always  open  through  the 
force  of  the  current.  ]\Iy  sister  and  I  sat  down,  for  the  piece 
of  ice  rocked  about  in  every  direction,  making  both  of  us  laugh 
inordinately.  Jarrett 's  cries  caused  people  to  gather.  Men 
armed  with  boat  hooks  endeavored  to  stop  our  progress,  but  it 
was  not  easy,  for  the  edges  of  the  channel  were  too  friabU? 
to  bear  the  weight  of  a  man.  Ropes  were  thrown  out  to  us. 
We  caught  hold  of  one  of  them  with  our  four  hands,  but  the 
sudden  pull  of  the  men  in  drawing  us  toward  them  cast  our 
raft  so  suddenly  against  the  icy  edges  that  it  broke  in  two, 
and  we  remained,  full  of  fear  this  time,  on  one  small  part  of 
our  skiff'.  I  laughed  no  longer,  for  we  were  beginning  to  ti-avel 
somewhat  fast,  and  the  channel  was  opening  out  in  width.     But 

413 


.Mi:.M()IUi:s    OF    MV    LIFE 

in  one  of  the  turns  it  iiiiulc,  we  were  fortunately  squeezed  in 
between  two  immense  blocks,  and  to  this  fact  W(.'  owed  beiu}; 
able  to  escape  with  our  lives.  The  men  who  had  followed  our 
very  rapid  ride  with  real  courar^e,  climbed  on  to  the  blocks.  A 
harpoon  was  thrown  with  marvelous  skill  on  to  our  icy  wreck 
so  as  to  retain  us  in  our  position,  for  the  current,  rather  strong? 
underneath,  mi^ht  have  caused  us  to  move.  A  ladder  was 
brought  and  planted  against  one  of  the  large  blocks,  and  its 
steps  afforded  us  means  of  delivery.  My  sister  was  the  first 
to  climb  up  and  I  followed,  somewhat  ashamed  at  our  ridiculous 
escapade. 

During  the  length  of  time  required  to  regain  the  bank,  the 
carriage,  with  Jarrett  in  it,  was  able  to  rejoin  us.  He  was 
pallid,  not  from  fear  of  the  danger  I  had  undergone,  but  at 
the  idea  that  if  I  died  the  tour  would  come  to  an  end.  He  said 
to  me  quite  serioiLsly,  "  If  you  had  lost  your  life,  madam,  you 
would  have  been  dishonest,  for  you  would  have  broken  your  con- 
tract of  your  own  free  will." 

We  had  just  enough  time  to  get  to  the  station  where  the 
train  was  ready  to  take  me  to  Springfield. 

An  immense  crowd  was  waiting  and  it  was  with  the  same 
cry  of .  love,  underlined  Avitli  au-revoirs,  that  the  Canadian 
public  wished  us  good-by. 


414 


CHAPTER   XXVIII 

MY   TOUR   OP   THE   WESTERN   STATES 

'FTER  our  immense  and  noisy  success  at  Montreal, 
we  were  somewhat  surprised  with  the  icy  welcome 
of  the  public  at  Springfield. 

We  played  "  La  Dame  aux  Camelias,"  in 
America  "  Camille  " — why?  No  one  was  ever  able  to  tell  me. 
This  play,  that  the  public  rushed  to  see  in  crowds,  shocked  the 
overstrained  Puritanism  of  the  small  American  states.  The 
critics  of  the  large  cities  discussed  this  modern  Magdalene.  But 
those  of  the  small  towns  began  by  throwing  stones  at  her.  This 
stilted  reserve  on  the  part  of  the  public,  prejudiced  against  the 
impurity  of  Marguerite  Gautier,  we  met  with  from  time  to 
time  in  the  small  cities.  Springfield  at  that  time  had  barely 
thirty  thousand  inhabitants. 

During  the  day  I  passed  at  Springfield  I  called  at  a  gun- 
smiths to  purchase  a  Colt  gun.  The  salesman  showed  me  into 
a  long  and  very  narrow  courtyard  where  I  tried  several  guns. 
On  turning  round,  I  was  surprised  and  confused  to  see  two 
gentlemen  taking  an  interest  in  my  shooting.  I  wished  to  with- 
draw at  once,  but  one  of  them  came  up  to  me — "  Would  you 
like,  madam,  to  come  and  fire  oft'  a  cannon?  "  I  almost  fell 
to  the  ground  with  surprise,  and  did  not  reply  for  a  second. 
Then  I  said,  "  Yes,  I  would." 

An  appointment  was  made  with  my  strange  questioner,  who 
was  the  director  of  the  Colt  gun  factory.  An  hour  afterwards 
I  went  to  the  rendezvous. 

More  than  thirty  people  were  there  already  who  had  been 

415 


AIEMOHIES    OF    .MV     l.Il'K 

hastily  iiivitod.  Tt  ^'ot  on  my  nerves  a  trifle.  I  fired  off  the 
newly  invented  (luick-firinf?  eannon.  It  amused  me  ver>'  mueh 
without  procuring  me  any  emotion,  and  that  evening,  after  the 
icy  performance,  we  left  for  Baltimore  with  a  vertiginous  rush, 
the  play  having  finished  later  than  the  hour  fixed  for  the  de- 
l>arture  of  the  train.  It  was  nec&ssary  to  catch  it  at  any  cost. 
The  three  enormous  carriages  that  made  up  my  special  train 
went  off  under  full  steam.  Having  two  engines  we  bounded 
over  the  rails  but  stayed  on,  thanks  to  some  miracle. 

We  finally  succeeded  in  catching  up  with  the  express  that 
(having  been  warned  by  telegram)  knew  we  were  on  its  track; 
it  made  a  short  stop — just  long  enough  to  couple  us  to  it — and 
in  that  way  we  reached  Baltimore,  where  I  stayed  four  days 
and  gave  five  performances. 

Two  things  struck  me  in  that  city — the  deadly  cold  in 
the  hotels  and  the  theater,  and  the  loveliness  of  the  women.  I 
felt  a  profound  sadness  at  Baltimore  for  it  was  the  first  time 
I  had  spent  the  first  of  January  far  from  everything  that 
was  dear  to  me.  I  wept  all  night  and  underwent  that  moment 
of  discouragement  that  makes  one  wish  for  death. 

The  success,  however,  had  been  colossal  in  that  charming 
city,  which  I  left  with  regret  to  go  to  Philadelphia,  where  we 
were  to  remain  a  week. 

That  handsome  city  I  do  not  care  for.  I  received  an  en- 
thusiastic welcome  there  in  spite  of  a  change  of  programme  the 
first  evening.  Two  artistes  having  missed  the  train  we  could 
not  play  "  Adrienne  Lecouvreur  "  and  I  had  to  replace  it  by 
"  Phedre, "  the  only  piece  in  which  the  absentees  could  be  re- 
placed. The  receipts  averaged  20,000  francs  for  the  seven 
performances  given  in  six  days.  My  sojourn  was  saddened 
by  a  letter  announcing  the  death  of  my  friend  Gustave  Flau- 
bert, the  writer  who  had  the  beauty  of  our  language  most  at 
heart. 

From  Philadelphia  we  proceeded  to  Chicago. 

At  the  station  I  Avas  received  by  a  deputation  of  Chicago 
ladies,  and  a  bouquet  of  rare  flowers  was  handed  to  me  by  a 

delightful  young  lady,  Madam  Lily .     Jarrett  then  led  me 

416 


MY    TOUR    OF    THE    WESTERN    STATES 

into  one  of  the  rooms  of  the  station  where  the  French  dele- 
gates were  waiting. 

A  very  short  bvit  highly  emotional  speech  from  our  consul 
spread  confidence  and  friendly  feelings  among  all,  and  after 
having  returned  heartfelt  thanks,  I  was  preparing  to  leave 
the  station,  when  I  remained  stupefied — and  it  seems  that  my 
features  assumed  such  an  intense  expression  of  suffering 
that  everybody  ran  toward  me  to  offer  assistance.  For  a  sud- 
den anger  electrified  all  my  being,  and  I  walked  straight 
toward  the  horrible  vision  that  had  just  appeared  before  me — 
the  whale  man !  He  was  alive,  that  horrible  Smith — enveloped 
in  furs,  with  diamonds  on  all  of  his  fingers.  He  was  there 
with  a  bouquet  in  his  hand,  the  horrible  brute!  I  refused  the 
flowers  and  repulsed  him  with  all  my  strength  increased  ten- 
fold by  anger,  and  a  flood  of  confused  words  escaped  my  pal- 
lid lips.  But  this  scene  charmed  him,  for  it  was  repeated  and 
spread  about,  magnified,  and  the  whale  had  more  visitors  than 
ever. 

I  went  to  the  Palmer  House,  one  of  the  most  magnificent 
hotels  of  that  day,  whose  proprietor,  Mr.  Palmer,  was  a  per- 
fect gentleman,  courteous,  kind,  and  generous,  for  he  filled  the 
immense  apartment  I  occupied ,  with  the  rarest  flowers,  and 
taxed  his  ingenuity  in  order  to  have  me  served  in  the  French 
style,  a  rare  thing  at  that  time. 

We  were  to  remain  a  fortnight  in  Chicago.  Our  success 
exceeded  all  expectations.  This  fortnight  at  Chicago  seemed 
to  me  the  most  agreeable  days  I  had  had  since  my  arrival  in 
America.  First  of  all  there  was  the  vitality  of  the  city  in 
which  men  pass  each  other  without  ever  stopping,  with  knitted 
brows,  with  one  thought  in  mind,  "  the  end  to  attain."  They 
move  on  and  on,  never  turning  for  a  cry  or  prudent  warning. 
What  takes  place  behind  them,  matters  little.  They  do  not 
wish  to  know  why  a  cry  was  raised;  and  they  have  no  time  to 
be  prudent,  "  the  end  to  attain  "  awaits  them. 

Women  here,  as  everywhere  else  in  America,  do  not  work, 
but  they  do  not  stroll  about  the  streets  as  in  other  cities;  they 
walk  quickly ;  they  also  are  in  a  hurry  to  seek  amusement.  Dur- 
28  417 


m1':mories  of  isiy  life 

iiij,'  the  (Ijiyliiiic  T  wnit  soiiic  distaiiec  into  the  surr(miulir)<j 
country  in  oi'cUt  not  to  mci't  tlie  sandwich  hkmi  advertising  tlie 
whak'. 

One  day  I  went  to  the  ])i<;-.shuightering  house.  Ah,  what 
a  dreadful  and  niagnifieent  si<;lit !  'I'here  were  three  of  us — 
my  sister,  myself,  antl  an  Englishman,  a  friend  of  mine.  On 
arrival,  we  saw  hundreds  of  pigs  hurrying,  bunched  together, 
grunting  and  snorting,  file  oft'  along  a  small,  narrow,  raised 
bridge. 

Our  carriage  passed  under  this  bridge  and  stopped  before 
a  group  of  men  who  were  waiting  for  us.  The  manager  of  the 
stockyards  received  us  and  led  the  way  to  the  special  slaughter- 
houses. On  entering  into  the  immense  shed,  which  was  dimly 
lighted  by  windows  with  greasy  and  ruddy  panes,  an  abominable 
smell  gets  into  one's  throat,  a  smell  that  only  leaves  one  sev- 
eral days  afterwards.  A  sanguinary  mist  rises  everywhere 
like  a  light  cloud  floating  on  the  side  of  a  mountain  and  lit  up 
by  the  setting  sun.  An  infernal  hubbub  drums  itself  into  one's 
brain ;  the  almost  human  cries  of  the  pigs  being  slaughtered, 
the  violent  strokes  of  the  hatchets,  lopping  off  the  limbs,  the 
successive  "Hani"  of  the  "ripper"  who,  with  a  superbly 
sweeping  gesture  lifts  the  heavy  hatchet,  and  with  one  stroke 
opens  from  top  to  bottom  the  unfortunate,  quivering  animal  hung 
on  a  hook.  During  the  terror  of  the  moment,  one  hears  the  con- 
tinuous grating  of  the  revolving  razor,  which,  in  one  second, 
removes  the  bristles  from  the  trunk  thrown  to  it  by  the  machine 
that  has  cut  off  the  four  legs.  The  whistle  by  which  escapes 
the  steam  from  the  hot  water  in  which  the  head  of  the  animal 
is  scalded ;  the  rippling  of  the  water  that  is  constantly  renewed ; 
the  cascade  of  the  waste  water;  the  rumbling  of  the  small 
trains  carrying  under  wide  arches  trucks  loaded  with  hams, 
sausages,  etc.  ...  all  that  sustained  by  the  sounds  of  the  bells 
of  the  engines  warning  of  the  danger  of  their  approach,  and 
which  in  this  spot  of  terrible  massacre  seem  to  be  the  per- 
petual knell  of  wretched  agonies.  Nothing  was  more  Hoff- 
manesque  than  this  slaughter  of  pigs  at  the  period  I  am  speak- 
ing about,  for  since  then,  a  sentiment  of  humanity  has  crept, 

418 


MY    TOUR    OF    THE    WESTERN    STATES 

although  still  somewhat  timidly,  into  this  temple  of  porcine 
hecatombs. 

I  returned  from  this  visit  quite  ill.  That  evening  I  played 
in  "  Phedre. "  I  went  on  to  the  stage  quite  unnerved  and  try- 
ing to  do  everything  to  get  rid  of  the  horrible  vision  of  a  little 
while  ago.  I  threw  myself  heart  and  brain  into  my  role,  so 
nuieh  so  that  at  the  end  of  the  fourth  act  I  absolutely  fainted 
on  the  stage. 

On  the  day  of  my  last  performance,  a  magnificent  collar 
of  camellias  in  diamonds  was  handed  me  on  behalf  of  the  ladies 
of  Chicago.  I  left  that  city  fond  of  everything  in  it — its 
people,  its  lake  as  big  as  a  small  inland  sea,  its  audience-s  who 
were  so  enthusiastic,  everything,  everything,  but  its  stockyards. 

I  did  not  even  bear  any  ill-will  toward  the  bishop  who 
also,  as  had  happened  in  other  cities,  had  denounced  my  art 
and  French  literature.  By  the  violence  of  his  sermons  he  had 
as  a  matter  of  fact  advertised  us  so  well  that  Mr.  Abbey,  the 
manager,  wrote  the  following  letter  to  him: 

His  Grace  :  Whenever  I  visit  your  city  I  am  accustomed  to  spend 
$400  in  advertising.  But  as  you  have  done  the  advertising  for  me,  I  send 
you  $200  for  your  poor.  Henry  Abbey, 

We  left  Chicago  to  go  to  St.  Louis,  where  we  arrived  after 
having  covered  two  hundred  and  eighty-three  miles  in  fourteen 
hours. 

In  the  drawing-room  of  my  car,  Abbey  and  Jarrett  showed 
me  the  statement  of  the  sixty-two  performances  that  had  been 
given  since  our  departure;  the  gross  receipts  were  $227,459, 
that  is  to  say  1,137,295  francs — an  average  of  18,343  francs 
per  performance.  This  gave  me  great  pleasure  on  Henry  Ab- 
bey's account,  who  had  lost  everything  in  his  previous  tour  with 
an  admirable  troupe  of  Opera  artistes,  and  greater  pleasure  still 
on  my  own  account,  for  I  was  to  receive  a  good  share  of  the 
receipts. 

We  stayed  at  St.  Louis  all  the  week  from  the  24th  to  the 
31st  of  January.    I  must  admit  that  this  city,  which  was  specially 

419 


MEMORIES    OF    MY    LIFE 

Ffcncli,  was  less  jo  tiiy  likiiit^  than  the  other  American  cities, 
as  it  was  dirty  and  the  hotels  were  not  very  comfortable.  Since 
then  St.  Ijouis  has  nia<h'  ^n-cat  strides,  but  it  wjls  the  (iermans 
who  planted  tliere  tlie  bulb  of  proi^rcss.  At  the  time  of  which 
I  speak,  the  year  1881,  the  city  was  repulsively  dirty.  In  those 
days,  alas!  we  were  not  great  at  colonizinj^^,  and  all  the  cities 
where  French  influence  prei)onderated,  Mere  poor  and  behind 
the  times.  I  was  bored  to  death  at  St.  Louis,  and  I  wanted  to 
leave  the  place  at  once,  after  paying  the  indemnity  to  the  man- 
ager, but  Jarrett,  the  upright  man,  the  stern  man  of  duty,  the 
ferocious  man,  said  to  me,  holding  the  contract  in  his  hand: 
*'  No,  madame,  you  must  stay;  you  can  die  of  ennui  here,  if 
you  like,  but  stay  you  must." 

By  way  of  entertaining  me,  he  took  me  to  a  celebrated 
grotto,  where  we  Avere  to  see  some  millions  of  fish  without  eyes. 
The  light  had  never  penetrated  into  this  grotto,  and  as  the  first 
fish  who  lived  there  had  no  use  for  their  eyes,  their  descendants 
had  no  ej'es  at  all.  We  went  down  and  groped  our  way  to  the 
grotto,  very  cautiously,  on  all  fours  like  cats.  The  road  seemed 
to  me  interminable ;  but,  at  last,  the  guide  told  us  that  we  had 
arrived  at  our  destination.  We  were  able  to  stand  upright 
again,  as  the  grotto  itself  was  higher.  I  could  see  nothing,  but 
I  heard  a  match  being  struck,  and  the  guide  then  lighted  a  small 
lantern.  Just  in  front  of  me,  nearly  at  my  feet,  was  a  rather 
deep  natural  basin :  ' '  You  see, ' '  remarked  our  guide  phleg- 
matically,  "  that  is  the  pond,  but  just  at  present  there  is  no 
water  in  it,  neither  are  there  any  fish;  you  must  come  again  in 
three  months'  time." 

Jarrett  made  such  a  fearful  grimace  that  I  was  seized  with 
an  uncontrollable  fit  of  laughter,  of  that  kind  of  laughter  which 
borders  on  madness;  I  was  sufi^ocated  with  it,  and  I  hiccoughed 
and  laughed  till  the  tears  came.  I  then  went  down  into  the 
basin  of  the  pond  in  search  of  a  relic  of  some  kind,  a  little 
skeleton  of  a  dead  fish,  or  anything,  no  matter  what.  There  was 
nothing  to  be  found,  though,  absolutely  nothing.  We  had 
to  return  on  all  fours  as  we  came.  I  made  Jarrett  go  first, 
and  the  sight  of  his  big  back  in  his  fur  coat  as  he  walked 

4-20 


MY    TOUR    OF    THE    WESTERN    STATES 

along  on  hands  and  feet,  grumbling  and  swearing  as  he  went, 
gave  me  such  delight  that  I  no  longer  regretted  anything,  and 
I  gave  ten  dollars  to  the  guide  to  his  ineffable  surprise. 

We  returned  to  the  hotel,  and  I  was  informed  that  a  jeweler 
had  been  waiting  for  me  more  than  two  hours.  "  A  jeweler!  " 
I  exclaimed;  "  but  I  have  no  intention  of  buying  any  jewelry; 
I  have  too  much  as  it  is."  Jarrett,  however,  winked  at  Abbey, 
who  was  there  as  we  entered.  I  saw  at  once  that  there  was 
some  understanding  between  the  jeweler  and  my  two  impre- 
sarii.  I  was  told  that  my  ornaments  needed  cleaning,  that  the 
jeweler  would  undertake  to  make  them  look  like  new,  repair 
them  if  they  required  it  and,  in  a  word  .  .  .  exhibit  them.  I 
rebelled,  but  it  was  of  no  use.  Jarrett  assured  me  that  the 
ladies  of  St.  Louis  were  particularly  fond  of  shows  of  this  kind. 
He  said  it  would  be  an  excellent  advertisement,  that  my  jewelry 
was  very  much  tarnished,  that  several  stones  were  missing,  and 
that  this  man  would  replace  them  for  nothing.  "  What  a  sav- 
ing," he  added;  "  just  think  of  it!  " 

I  gave  up,  for  discussions  of  that  kind  bore  me  to  death, 
and  two  days  later  the  ladies  of  St.  Louis  went  to  admire  my 
ornaments  in  this  jeweler's  showcases  under  a  blaze  of  light. 
Poor  Mme.  Guerard,  who  also  wanted  to  see  them,  came  back 
horrified : 

"  They  have  added  to  your  things,"  she  said,  **  sixteen  pairs 
of  earrings,  two  necklaces,  and  thirty  rings;  a  lorgnette  all  dia- 
monds and  rubies,  a  gold  cigarette  holder  set  with  turquoises, 
a  small  pipe,  the  amber  mouthpiece  of  which  is  encircled  with 
diamond  stars,  sixteen  bracelets,  a  toothpick  studded  with  sap- 
phires, and  a  pair  of  spectacles  with  gold  mounts  ending  with 
small  acorns  of  pearls. 

*'  They  must  have  been  made  specially,"  said  poor  Gue- 
rard, "  for  there  can't  be  anyone  who  would  wear  such  glasses, 
and  on  them  were  written  the  words:  '  Spectacles  which  ]\La- 
dame  Sarah  Bernhardt  wears  when  she  is  at  home.'  "  I  cer- 
tainly thought  that  this  was  exceeding  all  the  limits  allowed  to 
advertisement.  To  make  me  smoke  pipes  and  wear  spectacles 
was  going  rather  too  far,  and  I  got  into  my  carriage  and  drove 

421 


MKMOUIKS    OF    MV     MFK 

at  once  to  the  jeweler's.  I  arrived  jiist  in  iitiu!  to  find  the  place 
closed.  It  was  five  o'clock  on  Saturday  afternoon,  the  lights 
were  out,  and  everything  was  dark  and  silent.  I  returned  to 
the  hotel  and  spoke  to  Jarrett  of  my  annoyance:  "  What  does 
it  all  matter,  madamc?  "  he  said  trancjuilly ;  "  so  many  girls 
wear  spectacles,  and  as  to  the  pipe,  the  jeweler  tells  me  he  has 
received  five  orders  from  it,  and  that  it  is  going  to  be  quite  the 
fashion.  Anyhow,  it  is  of  no  use  worrying  about  the  matter, 
as  the  exhibition  is  now  over,  your  jewelry  will  be  returned 
to-night,  and  we  leave  here  the  day  after  to-morrow."  That 
evening  the  jeweler  returned  all  the  objects  I  had  lent  him, 
and  they  had  been  polished  and  repaired,  so  that  they  looked 
quite  new.  lie  had  included  with  them  a  gold  cigarette  holder 
set  with  turquoises,  the  very  one  that  had  been  on  view.  I 
simply  could  not  make  that  man  understand  anything,  and  my 
anger  cooled  down  when  confronted  by  his  pleasant  manner 
and  his  joy. 

This  advertisement,  though,  came  very  near  costing  my  life. 
Tempted  by  the  thought  of  this  huge  quantity  of  jewelry,  the 
greater  part  of  which  did  not  belong  to  me,  a  little  band  of 
sharpers  planned  to  rob  me,  believing  that  they  would  find 
all  these  valuables  in  the  large  handbag  which  my  steward 
always  carried. 

On  Sunday,  the  30th  of  January,  we  left  St.  Louis  at  eight 
o'clock  in  the  morning  for  Cincinnati.  I  was  in  my  mag- 
nificently appointed  Pullman  car,  and  I  had  requested  that 
my  car  should  be  put  at  the  end  of  our  special  train,  so  that 
from  the  platform  I  might  enjoy  the  beauty  of  the  landscape 
which  passes  before  one  like  a  continually  changing  living 
panorama. 

We  had  scarcely  been  more  than  ten  minutes  en  route  when 
the  guard  suddenly  stooped  down  and  looked  over  the  little 
balcony.  He  then  drew  back  quickly,  and  his  face  turned  pale. 
Seizing  my  hand,  he  said  in  a  very  anxious  tone,  in  English, 
"  Please  go  inside,  madame. "  I  understood  that  we  were  in 
danger  of  some  kind.  He  pulled  the  alarm  signal,  made  a 
sign  to  another  guard,  and,  before  the  train  had  quite  come  to 

422 


MY    TOUR    OF    THE    WESTERN    STATES 

a  standstill,  the  two  men  sprang  down  and  disappeared  under 
the  train.  The  guard  had  fired  a  revolver  in  order  to  attract 
everyone's  attention,  and  Jarrett,  Abbey,  and  the  artistes  hur- 
ried out  into  the  narrow  corridor.  I  found  myself  in  the  midst 
of  them,  and  to  our  stupefaction,  we  saw  the  two  guards  drag- 
ging out  from  underneath  my  compartment  a  man  armed  to  the 
teeth.  With  a  revolver  held  to  his  temple  on  either  side  he 
decided  to  confess  the  truth  of  the  matter.  The  jeweler's  ex- 
hibition had  excited  the  envy  of  all  the  tribes  of  thieves,  and 
this  man  had  been  dispatched  by  an  organized  band  at  St. 
Louis  to  relieve  me  of  my  jewelry.  He  was  to  unhook  my  car- 
riage from  the  rest  of  the  train  between  St.  Louis  and  Cin- 
cinnati, at  a  certain  spot  known  as  the  "  Little  Incline."  As 
this  was  to  be  done  during  the  night,  and  my  carriage  was  the 
last,  the  thing  was  comparatively  easy,  as  it  was  only  a  question 
of  lifting  the  enormous  hook  and  drawing  it  out  of  the  link. 
The  man  was  a  veritable  giant  and  he  was  fastened  on  to  my 
carriage.  We  examined  his  apparatus  and  found  that  it  con- 
sisted of  merely  very  thick,  wide  straps  of  leather,  about  half 
a  yard  wide.  By  means  of  these,  he  was  fastened  firmly  to 
the  under  part  of  the  train  with  his  hands  perfectly  free. 
The  courage  and  the  sang  froid  of  that  man  were  admirable. 
He  told  us  that  seven  armed  men  were  waiting  for  us  at  the 
"  Little  Incline  "  and  that  they  certainly  would  not  have  in- 
jured us  if  we  had  not  attempted  to  resist,  for  all  they  wanted 
was  my  jewelry,  and  the  money  which  the  secretary  carried, 
$2,300.  Oh!  he  knew  everything,  he  knew  everyone's  name, 
and  he  gabbled  on  in  bad  French:  "  Oh!  as  for  you,  madamo, 
we  should  not  have  done  you  any  harm  in  spite  of  your  pretty 
little  revolver;  we  should  even  have  let  you  keep  it." 

And  so  this  man  and  his  band  knew  that  the  secretary  slept 
at  my  end  of  the  train  and  that  he  was  not  to  be  dreaded  much, 
poor  Chatterton,  that  he  had  with  him  $2,300,  and  that  I  had 
a  very  prettily  chased  revolver,  ornamented  with  eats'  eyes. 
The  man  was  firmly  bound  and  taken  in  charge  by  the  two 
guards,  and  the  train  was  then  backed  to  St.  Louis — we  had 
started  away  only  a  quarter  of  an  hour  before.    The  police  were 

423 


MEMORIES    OE    MV    LIEE 

iiironiicd  and  tlicy  sent  us  five  detectives.  A  i^outh  train,  wliich 
should  have  gone  on  half  an  hour  after  us,  was  sent  on  ahead. 
Eight  detectives  traveled  on  this  goods  train  and  received 
orders  to  get  out  at  the  "  Little  Incline."  Our  giant  was 
lianded  over  to  the  police  authorities,  but  I  was  promised  that 
he  should  be  dealt  with  mercifully  on  account  of  the  confes- 
sion he  had  made.  Later  on,  I  learned  that  this  promise  had 
been  kept,  as  the  man  was  sent  back  to  his  native  country, 
Ireland. 

From  this  time  forth,  my  compartment  was  always  placed 
between  two  others  every  night.  In  the  daytime  I  was  allowed 
to  have  my  carriage  at  the  end  on  condition  that  I  would  agree 
to  have  an  armed  detective  on  my  bridge,  whom  I  was  to  pay, 
by  the  way,  for  his  services.  We  started  about  twenty-five 
minutes  after  the  goods  train.  All  the  men  were  requested 
to  have  their  revolvers  in  readiness  and  some  white  sticks  like 
pastry  rollers  were  given  to  the  women  and  to  the  men  who 
had  not  any  revolvers.  Our  dinner  was  very  gay  and  everyone 
was  rather  excited.  As  to  the  guard  who  had  discovered  the 
giant  hidden  under  the  train.  Abbey  and  I  had  rewarded  him 
so  lavishly  that  he  was  intoxicated,  and  kept  coming  on  every 
occasion  to  kiss  mj^  hand  and  weep  his  drunkard's  tears,  re- 
peating all  the  time:  "  I  saved  the  French  lady,  I'm  a 
gentleman. ' ' 

When,  finally,  we  approached  the  "  Little  Incline,"  it  was 
dark.  The  engine  driver  wanted  to  rush  along  at  full  speed, 
but  we  had  not  gone  five  miles  when  petards  exploded  under 
the  wheels,  and  we  were  obliged  to  slacken  our  pace.  We  won- 
dered what  new  danger  there  was  awaiting  us,  and  we  began 
to  feel  anxious.  The  women  w^ere  nervous  and  some  of  them 
■were  in  tears.  We  went  along  slowly,  peering  into  the  dark- 
ness, trying  to  make  out  the  form  of  a  man  or  of  several  men 
by  the  light  of  each  petard.  Abbey  suggested  going  at  full 
speed,  because  these  petards  had  been  placed  along  the  line  by 
the  bandits,  w^ho  had  probably  thought  of  some  way  of  stopping 
the  train  in  case  their  giant  did  not  succeed  in  unhooking  the 
carriage.     The  engine  driver  refused  to  go  more  quickly,  de- 

424 


MY    TOUR    OF    THE    WESTERN    STATES 

daring  that  these  petards  were  the  signals  placed  there  by  the 
railway  company,  and  that  he  could  not  risk  everyone's  life 
on  a  mere  supposition.  The  man  was  quite  right  and  he  was 
certainly  very  brave. 

"  We  can  certainly  settle  a  handful  of  ruffians,"  he  said, 
"  but  I  could  not  answer  for  anyone's  life  if  the  train  went  off 
the  lines,  or  collided  with  something,  or  went  over  a  precipice." 

We  continued,  therefore,  to  go  slowly.  The  lights  had  been 
turned  off  in  the  car,  so  that  we  might  see  as  much  as  possible 
without  being  seen  ourselves.  We  had  tried  to  keep  the  truth 
from  the  artistes,  except  from  three  men  whom  I  had  sent  for 
to  come  to  my  carriage.  The  artistes  really  had  nothing  to 
fear  from  the  robbers,  as  I  was  the  only  person  at  whom  they 
were  aiming.  To  avoid  all  unnecessary  questions  and  evasive 
answers  we  sent  the  secretary  to  tell  them  that  as  there  was 
some  obstruction  on  the  line  the  train  had  to  go  slowly.  They 
were  also  told  that  one  of  the  gas  pipes  had  to  be  repaired  be- 
fore we  could  have  the  light  again.  The  communication  was 
then  cut  between  my  car  and  the  rest  of  the  train.  We  had 
been  going  along  like  this  for  ten  minutes,  perhaps,  when  evorj'^- 
thing  was  suddenly  lighted  up  by  a  fire,  and  we  saw  a  gang  of 
railway  men  hastening  toward  us.  It  makes  me  shudder  now 
when  I  think  how  nearly  these  poor  fellows  were  to  being  killed. 
Our  nerves  had  been  in  such  a  state  of  tension  for  several  hours 
that  we  imagined  at  first  that  these  men  were  the  wretched 
friends  of  the  giant.  Some  one  fired  at  them,  and  if  it  had 
not  been  for  our  plucky  engine  driver  calling  out  to  them  to 
stop,  with  the  addition  of  a  terrible  oath,  two  or  three  of  these 
poor  men  would  have  been  wounded.  I,  too,  had  seized  my 
revolver,  but  before  I  could  have  drawn  out  the  ramrod  which 
serves  as  a  cog  to  prevent  it  from  going  off,  anyone  would  have 
had  time  to  seize  me,  bind  me,  and  kill  me  a  hundred  times 
over.  And  still  any  time  I  go  to  a  place  where  I  think  there 
is  danger,  I  invariably  take  my  pistol  with  me,  for  it  is  a  pistol 
and  not  a  revolver.  I  always  call  it  a  revolver,  but,  in  reality, 
it  is  a  pistol,  and  of  a  very  old-fashioned  make,  too,  with  this 
ramrod  and  the  trigger  so  hard  to  pull  that  I  have  to  use  my 

425 


mi;m()I{ii:s  of  m\    iavk 

other  hand  ns  well.  I  urn  not  a  bad  sliot,  for  a  woman,  pro- 
vided that  I  may  take  my  time,  but  this  is  not  very  easy  when 
one  wants  to  (iro  at  a  robber.  And  yet,  I  always  have  my 
pistol  with  m<';  it  is  here  on  my  table  and  I  ean  soe  it  as  I 
write.  It  is  in  its  case,  which  is  rather  too  narrow,  so  that  it 
requires  a  certain  amount  of  strenffth  and  patience  to  pull  it 
out.  If  an  assassin  should  arrive  at  this  particular  moment 
I  should  first  have  to  unfasten  the  case,  which  is  no  easy  mat- 
ter, then  to  get  the  pistol  out,  pull  out  the  ramrod,  which  is 
rather  too  firm,  and  press  the  trigger  with  both  hands.  And 
yet,  in  spite  of  all  this,  the  human  animal  is  so  strange  that 
this  little  ridiculously  useless  object  here  before  me  seems  to 
me  an  admirable  protection.  And  nervous  and  timid  as  I  am, 
alas!  I  feel  quite  safe  when  I  am  near  to  this  little  friend  of 
mine,  who  must  roar  with  laughter  inside  the  little  case  out 
of  which  I  can  scarcely  drag  it. 

Well,  everything  was  now  explained  to  us.  The  goods  train 
which  had  started  before  us  ran  off  the  line,  but  no  great 
damage  was  done,  and  no  one  was  killed.  The  St.  Louis  band  of 
robbers  had  arranged  everything,  and  had  prepared  to  have 
this  little  accident  two  miles  from  the  "  Little  Incline,"  in 
case  their  comrade,  crouching  under  my  car,  had  not  been  able 
to  unhook  it.  The  train  left  the  rails,  but  when  the  wretches 
rushed  forward  believing  that  it  was  mine,  they  found  them- 
selves surrounded  by  the  band  of  detectives.  It  seems  that  they 
fought  like  demons.  One  of  them  was  killed  on  the  spot,  two 
more  wounded,  and  all  the  others  taken  prisoners.  A  few  days 
later  the  chief  of  this  little  band  was  hanged.  He  was  a  Bel- 
gian, named  Albert  AVirbyn,  twenty-five  years  of  age. 

I  did  all  in  my  power  to  save  him,  for  it  seemed  to  me  that 
unintentionally  I  had  been  the  instigator  of  his  evil  plan.  If 
Abbey  and  Jarrett  had  not  been  so  rabid  for  advertisement,  if 
they  had  not  added  more  than  600,000  francs'  worth  of  jewelry 
to  mine,  this  man,  this  wretched  youth.  Avould  not. perhaps  have 
had  the  stupid  idea  of  robbing  me. 

Who  can  say  what  schemes  had  floated  through  the  minds  of 
the  poor  fellow,  who  was  perhaps  half  starved  or  perhaps  ex- 

426 


-  o 


X.  ^ 


MY    TOUR    OF    THE    WESTERN    STATES 

cited  by  a  clever,  inventive  brain?  Perhaps  when  he  stopped 
and  looked  at  the  jeweler's  window,  he  said  to  himself: 
"  There  is  jewelry  there  worth  1,000,000  francs.  If  it  were 
all  mine  I  would  sell  it  and  go  back  to  Belgium.  What  joy  I 
could  give  to  my  poor  mother  who  is  blinding  herself  with 
work  by  gaslight,  and  I  could  help  my  sister  to  get  married." 
Or  perhaps  he  was  an  inventor,  and  he  thought  to  himself : 
"  Ah!  if  only  I  had  the  money  which  that  jewelry  represents, 
I  could  bring  out  my  invention  myself,  instead  of  selling  my 
patent  to  some  highly  esteemed  rascal,  who  will  buy  it  from 
me  for  a  crust  of  bread.  What  would  it  matter  to  the  artistel 
Ah,  if  only  I  had  the  money!  "  Ah,  if  I  had  the  money!  .  .  . 
Perhaps  the  poor  fellow  cried  with  rage  to  think  of  all  this 
wealth  belonging  to  one  person.  Perhaps  the  idea  of  crime 
germinated  in  this  way  in  a  mind  which  had  hitherto  been  pure. 


427 


CHAPTER   XXIX 

FROM    THE    GULF   TO    CANADA   AGAIN 

[E  arrived  at  Cincinnati  safe  and  sound.  "We  gave 
three  performances  there  and  set  off  once  more  for 
New  Orleans.  Now,  I  thought,  we  shall  have  some 
sunshine  and  we  shall  be  able  to  warm  our  poor 
limbs,  stiffened  with  three  months  of  mortal  cold.  We  shall  be 
able  to  open  our  windows,  and  breathe  fresh  air  instead  of  the 
suffocating  and  anaemia-giving  steam  heat,  I  fell  asleep  and 
dreams  of  warmth  and  sweet  scents  lulled  me  in  my  slumber. 
A  knock  at  my  door  roused  me  suddenly,  and  my  dog  with 
ears  erect  sniffed  at  the  door,  but  as  he  did  not  growl  I  knew 
it  was  some  one  of  our  party,  I  opened  the  door  and  Jarrett, 
followed  by  Abbey,  made  signs  to  me  not  to  speak,  Jarrett 
came  in  on  tip-toes  and  closed  the  door  again. 

*'  Well,  what  is  it  now?  "  I  asked. 

"  Why,"  replied  Jarrett,  "  the  incessant  rain  during  the 
last  twelve  days  has  swollen  the  river  to  such  a  height  that  the 
bridge  across  the  bay  of  St.  Louis  threatens  to  give  way.  If  we 
go  back  we  shall  require  three  or  four  days." 

I  was  furious.  Three  or  four  days  and  to  go  back  to  the 
snow  again.    Ah,  no,  I  felt  I  must  have  sunshine! 

"  Why  can  we  not  pass?  Oh,  heavens,  what  shall  we  do !  " 
I  exclaimed. 

"  Well,  the  engine  driver  is  here.  He  thinks  that  he  might 
get  across,  but  he  has  only  just  married,  and  he  will  try  the 
crossing  on  condition  that  you  give  him  $2,500,  which  he  will 
at  once  send  to  Mobile  where  his  father  and  wife  live.     If  we 

428 


PROM    THE    GULF    TO    CANADA    AGAIN 

get  safely  to  the  other  side  he  will  give  you  back  this  money, 
but  if  not  it  will  belong  to  his  family. ' ' 

' '  Yes,  certainly,  give  him  the  money  and  let  us  cross. ' ' 

As  I  have  said,  I  generally  traveled  by  special  train.  This 
one  was  made  up  of  only  three  carriages  and  the  engine.  I 
never  doubted  for  a  moment  as  to  the  success  of  this  foolish 
and  criminal  attempt,  and  I  did  not  tell  anyone  about  it  except 
my  sister,  my  beloved  Guerard,  and  my  faithful  Felieie  and 
her  husband  Claude.  The  comedian,  Angelo,  who  was  sleeping 
in  Jarrett's  berth  on  this  journey,  knew  of  it,  but  he  was 
courageous  and  had  faith  in  his  star.  The  money  was  handed 
over  to  the  engine  driver  who  sent  it  off  to  IMobile.  It  was 
only  just  as  we  were  actually  starting  that  I  had  the  vision  of 
the  responsibility  I  had  taken  upon  myself,  for  it  was  risking 
without  their  consent  the  lives  of  twenty-seven  persons.  It  was 
too  late  then  to  do  anything,  the  train  had  started  and  at  a 
terrific  speed  it  touched  the  bridge.  I  had  taken  my  seat  on 
the  platform  and  the  bridge  bent  and  swayed  like  a  ham- 
mock under  the  dizzy  speed  of  our  wild  course.  When  we 
were  half  way  across  it  gave  way  so  much  that  my  sister 
grasped  my  arm  and  whispered:  ''  Ah,  we  are  drowning!  "  I 
certainly  thought  as  she  did  that  the  supreme  moment  had 
arrived. 

My  last  minute  was  not  inscribed,  though,  for  that  day  in 
the  Book  of  Destiny.  The  train  pulled  itself  together  and  we 
arrived  on  the  other  side  of  the  water.  Behind  us  we  heard  a 
terrible  noise.  The  bridge  had  given  way.  For  more  than  a 
M^eek  the  trains  from  the  East  and  the  North  could  not  enter 
the  city. 

I  left  the  money  to  our  brave  engine  driver  but  my  con- 
science was  by  no  means  tranquil  and  for  a  long  time  my  sleep 
was  disturbed  by  the  most  frightful  nightmares. 

When  getting  out  of  the  train  I  was  more  dead  than  alive. 
I  had  to  submit  to  receiving  the  friendly  but  fatiguing  deputa- 
tion of  my  compatriots.  Then,  loaded  with  flowers,  I  climbed 
into  the  carriage  that  was  to  take  me  to  the  hotel.  The  roads 
were  rivers  and  we  were  on  an  elevated  spot.     The  lower  part 

429 


MEMORIES    OE    MY    LIFE 

ul'  tlie  city,  t.lic  coMcliiiiJiii  explained  to  us  in  Marsoilles  French, 
was  inundated  up  to  tlie  t()j)s  of  the  liouses.  The  negroes  had 
been  drowned  hy  liundreds.  "Ah,  luissy !  "  lie  eried  as  he 
whipped  up  his  horses.  At  that  period  tht;  hotels  in  New 
Orleans  were  scpialid — dirty,  iinc!oinl'ortable,  blaek  with  cock- 
roaehes,  and  as  soon  as  the  candles  were  lighted,  the  bedrooms 
became  filled  with  large  mosquitoes  that  buzzed  around  and 
fell  on  one's  shoulders,  sticking  in  one's  hair.  Oh,  I  shudder 
still  when  I  think  of  it ! 

At  the  same  time  there  was  an  opera  company  in  the  city, 
the  "  star  "  of  which  was  a  charming  woman,  Emilie  Ambre, 
who  at  one  time  came  very  near  being  Queen  of  Holland.  The 
country  was  poor,  like  all  the  other  American  districts  where 
the  French  were  to  be  found  preponderating.  Ah,  we  are  hardly 
good  colonists ! 

The  opera  did  a  very  poor  business  and  we  did  not  do  ex- 
cellently, either.  Six  performances  would  have  been  ample  in 
that  city;  we  gave  eight. 

Nevertheless,  my  sojourn  pleased  me  immensely.  An  in- 
finite charm  was  evolved  from  it.  All  these  people,  so  diflPerent, 
black  and  white,  had  smiling  faces.  All  the  women  were  grace- 
ful. The  shops  were  attractive  from  the  cheerfulness  of  their 
windows.  The  open-air  traders  under  the  arcades  challenged 
one  another  with  joyful  flashes  of  wit.  The  sun,  however,  did 
not  show  itself  once.  But  these  people  had  the  sun  within 
themselves. 

I  could  not  understand  why  boats  were  not  used.  The 
horses  had  water  up  to  their  hams,  and  it  would  have  been  im- 
possible even  to  get  into  a  carriage  if  the  pavements  had  not 
been  a  meter  or  more  high. 

Floods  being  as  frequent  as  the  years,  it  would  be  of  no  use 
thinking  of  banking  up  the  river  or  arm  of  the  sea.  But  walk- 
ing w^as  made  easy  by  the  high  pavements  and  small,  mov- 
able bridges.  The  dark  children  amused  themselves  catching 
crayfish  in  the  streams.  Where  did  they  come  from?  And 
they  sold  them  to  passersby.  Now  and  again,  we  would  see 
a  whole  family  of  water  serpents  speed  by.     They  swept  along 

430 


FROM    THE    GULF    TO    CANADA    AGAIN 

with  raised  head   and  undulating  body   like   long,  starry  sap- 
phires. 

I  went  down  toward  the  lower  part  of  tlie  town.  The  sight 
was  heartrending.  All  the  cabins  of  the  colored  inhabitants 
had  fallen  into  the  muddy  waters.  They  were  there  in  hun- 
dreds squatting  upon  these  moving  wrecks,  with  eyes  burning 
from  fever,  their  white  teeth  chattering.  Right  and  left,  every- 
where, were  dead  bodies  floating  about,  knocking  up  against  the 
wooden  piles.  Many  ladies  were  distributing  food,  endeavoring 
to  lead  away  the  unfortunate  negroes,  but  they  refused  to  go. 
And  the  v/omen  would  slowly  shake  their  heads.  One  child  of 
fourteen  years  of  age  had  just  been  carried  off  to  the  hospital 
with  his  foot  cut  clean  off  at  the  ankle  by  an  alligator.  His 
family  were  howling  with  fury.  They  wished  to  keep  the 
youngster  with  them.  The  negro  quack  doctor  pretended  that 
he  could  have  cured  him  in  two  days  and  that  the  white  (juacks 
would  leave  him  for  a  month  in  bed. 

I  left  this  city  with  regret,  for  it  resembled  no  other  city 
I  had  visited  up  to  then.  We  were  surprised  to  find  that  none 
of  our  party  was  missing  though  we  had  gone  through — so  they 
all  said — various  dangers.  The  hairdresser  alone,  a  man  called 
Ibe,  could  not  recover  his  equilibrium,  having  become  half  mad 
from  fear  the  second  day  of  our  arrival.  At  the  theater  he 
generally  slept  in  the  trunk  in  which  he  stored  his  wigs.  How- 
ever strange  it  may  seem,  the  fact  is  quite  true.  The  first  night, 
everything  passed  off  as  usual,  but  during  the  second  night  he 
woke  up  the  whole  neighborhood  by  his  shi'ieks.  The  unfor- 
tunate fellow  had  got  off  soundly  to  sleep,  when  he  woke  up 
with  a  feeling  that  his  mattress,  which  hung  over  his  collection 
of  wigs,  was  being  raised  up  by  some  inconceivable  movements. 
He  thought  that  some  cat  or  dog  had  got  into  the  trunk  and  he 
lifted  up  the  feeble  rampart.  Two  serpents  were  within,  actively 
moving  about,  of  a  size  sufficient  to  terrify  the  people  that  the 
shouts  of  the  poor  Figaro  had  caused  to  gather  round. 

He  was  still  very  pale  when  I  saw  him  embark  on  board  the 
boat  that  was  to  take  us  to  our  train.     I  called  him  and  begged 

431 


MEMORIES    OF    MV    TJFE 

liiiii  1o  fi'lato  to  me  tile  odyssoy  of  his  terrible  nifrht.  As  he 
toltl  me  the  story  he  showed  ine  his  heavy  lej;.  "  They  were  as 
thiek  as  that,  niadame.  Yes,  like  that.  ..."  And  he  quaked 
witii  Tear  as  he  reeallcd  the  dreadful  ^irth  of  the  reptiles.  I 
thoujiht  that  they  were  al)out  one-fiuarter  as  thiek  as  his  ]eg, 
and  that  would  have  been  enough  to  justify  his  frifjfht,  but  the 
serpents  in  (|U('stion  wci-e  inoffensive  water  snakes  that  bite  out 
of  pure  viciousness,  but  have  no  venom  fanj^s. 

We  reached  INIobile  somewhat  late  in  the  day.  We  had 
stopped  at  that  city  on  our  way  to  New  Orleans,  and  I  had 
had  a  real  attack  of  nerves  caused  by  the  "  check  "  of  the 
inhabitants  who,  in  spite  of  the  lateness  of  the  hour,  had  got 
up  a  deputation  to  wait  upon  me.  I  was  dead  with  fatigue 
and  was  dropping  otif  to  sleep  in  my  bed  on  the  car.  I  there- 
fore energetically  declined  to  see  anybody.  But  these  people 
knocked  at  my  windows,  sang  about  my  carriage,  and  finally 
exasperated  me.  I  quickly  threw  up  one  of  the  windows  and 
emptied  a  jug  of  w^ater  on  their  heads.  Women  and  men, 
among  whom  were  several  journalists,  were  splashed.  Their 
fury  was  great. 

I  was  returning  to  that  city,  preceded  by  the  above  story 
embellished  in  their  favor  by  the  drenched  reporters.  But  on 
the  other  hand  there  were  others  w^ho  had  been  more  courteous 
and  had  refused  to  go  and  disturb  a  lady  at  such  an  unearthly 
hour  of  the  night.  These  latter  w'ere  in  the  majority  and  took 
up  my  defense. 

It  M'as  therefore  in  this  warlike  atmosphere  that  I  appeared 
before  the  public  of  Mobile.  I  wanted,  however,  to  justify  the 
good  opinion  of  my  defenders  and  confound  my  detractors. 
Yes,  but  the  Gnome  who  had  decided  otherwise  was  there, 

]\Iobile  was  a  city  that  was  generally  quite  disdained  by  im- 
'presarii.  There  was  only  one  theater.  It  had  been  let  to  the 
tragedian  Barrett,  who  was  to  appear  six  days  after  me.  All 
that  remained  was  a  miserable  place,  so  small  that  I  know  of 
nothing  that  can  be  compared  to  it.  We  were  playing  "  La 
Dame  aux  Camelias. "  When  Marguerite  Gauiier  orders  sup- 
per to  be  served,  the  servants  who  were  to  bring  in  the  table 

432 


FROM    THE    GULF    TO    CANADA    AGAIN 

ready  laid  tried  to  get  it  in  through  the  door.  But  this  was 
impossible.  Nothing  could  be  more  comical  than  to  see  those 
unfortimate  servants  adopt   every  expedient. 

The  public  laughed.  Among  the  laughter  of  the  spectators 
was  one  that  became  contagious.  A  negro  of  twelve  or  fifteen 
who  had  got  in  somehow  was  standing  on  a  chair,  and  with  his 
two  hands  holding  on  to  his  knees,  his  body  bent,  head  forward, 
mouth  open,  he  was  laughing  with  such  a  shrill  and  piercing 
tone,  and  with  such  even  continuity,  that  I  caught  it,  too,  I 
had  to  go  out  while  a  portion  of  the  back  scenery  was  being  re- 
moved to  allow  the  table  to  be  brought  in. 

I  returned  somewhat  composed,  but  still  under  the  domina- 
tion of  suppressed  laughter.  We  were  sitting  round  the  table 
and  the  supper  was  drawing  to  a  close  as  usual.  But  just  as 
the  servants  were  entering  to  remove  the  table,  one  of  them 
caught  the  scenery  that  had  been  badly  adjusted  by  the  scene 
shifters  in  their  haste,  and  the  whole  back  scene  fell  on  our 
heads.  As  the  scenery  was  nearly  all  made  of  paper  in  those 
days,  it  did  not  fall  on  our  heads  and  remain  there,  but  round 
our  necks,  and  we  had  to  remain  in  that  position  without  be- 
ing able  to  move.  Our  heads  having  gone  through  the  paper, 
our  appearance  was  most  comical  and  ridiculous.  The  young 
negro's  laughter  started  again  more  piercing  than  ever,  and 
this  time  my  suppressed  laughter  ended  in  a  crisis  that  left  me 
without  any  strength. 

The  money  paid  for  admission  was  returned  to  the  public. 
It  exceeded  15,000  francs. 

This  city  had  a  fatality  for  me  and  came  very  near  prov- 
ing so  during  the  third  visit  I  paid  to  it. 

That  very  night  we  left  IMobile  for  Atlanta,  where,  after 
playing  "  La  Dame  aux  Camelias,"  we  left  again  the  same  even- 
ing for  Nashville. 

We  stayed  for  an  entire  day  at  Memphis  and  gave  two  per- 
formances.    At  one  in  the  morning  we  left  for  Louisville. 

We  were  beginning  the  dizzy  round  of  the  smaller  towns, 
arriving  at  three,  four,  and  sometimes  six  o'clock  in  the  even- 
29  433 


MEMORIES    OF    ^\\    LIFE 

in{j^,  and  leavinj^  immediately  urtcr  llic  pl;i\'.  I  Id't  my  car 
(mly  to  go  to  the  theater  and  returned  as  s(jon  as  the  i)lay  was 
over  to  retire  to  my  eh'<;ant  but  diminutive  l)edroom.  I  sleep 
well  on  the  I'aihvay.  I  felt  ;in  iiiiniensc!  pleasure  in  traveling 
that  way  at  hi^h  speed,  sittinj,^  outside  on  the  small  platform 
or  rather  reclining  in  a  rocking-chair,  gazing  on  the  ever-chang- 
ing spectacle,  that  passed  before  me,  of  American  plains  and 
foi-ests.  Without  stopping,  we  went  through  Louisville,  Cin- 
cinnati, for  the  second  time,  Columbus,  Dayton,  Indianapolis, 
St.  Joseph  that  has  the  best  beer  in  the  world,  and  where, 
we  were  obliged  to  go  to  an  hotel  on  account  of  repairs  to  one  of 
the  wheels  of  the  car.  Supper  was  served.  What  a  supper! 
Fortunately,  the  beer  was  light  in  both  color  and  consistency 
and  enabled  me  to  swallow  the  dreadful  things  that  were 
served  up. 

We  left  for  Leavenworth,  Quincy,  Springfield — not  the 
Springfield  in  IMassachusetts — the  one  in  Illinois. 

During  the  journey  from  Springfield  to  Chicago,  we  were 
stopped  by  the  snow  in  the  middle  of  the  night.  The  sharp 
and  deep  groanings  of  the  locomotive  had  already  awakened 
me.  I  summoned  my  faithful  Claude  and  learned  that  we  were 
to  stop  and  wait  for  help.  Aided  by  my  Felicie,  I  dressed  in 
haste  and  tried  to  descend,  but  it  was  impossible.  The  snow 
was  as  high  as  the  platform  of  the  car.  I  remained  wrapped 
up  in  furs,  contemplating  the  magnificent  night.  The  sky  was 
hard,  implacable,  without  a  star,  but  all  the  same  translucent. 
Lights  extended  as  far  as  the  eye  could  see  along  the  rails  be- 
fore me,  for  I  had  taken  refuge  on  the  rear  platform.  These 
lights  were  to  w^arn  the  trains  that  followed.  Four  of  them 
came  up  and  stopped  when  the  first  fog-signals  w^nt  off  beneatli 
their  w'heeLs,  then  crept  slowly  forward  to  the  first  light  where 
a  man  who  was  stationed  there  explained  the  incident.  The  same 
lights  were  lit  immediately  for  the  following  train,  as  far  off 
as  possible,  and  a  man  proceeding  beyond  the  lights  placed 
detonators  on  the  rails.  Each  train  that  arrived  followed  that 
course. 

We  were  blocked  by  the  snow.     The  idea  came  to  rae  of 

434 


FROM    THE    GULF    TO    CANADA    AGAIN 

lighting  the  kitchen  fire  and  I  thus  got  enough  boiling  water  to 
melt  the  top  coating  of  snow  on  the  side  where  I  wanted  to  get 
down.  Having  done  this,  Claude  and  the  negroes  got  down  and 
cleared  away  a  small  portion  as  well  as  they  could.  I  was  at 
last  able  to  get  down  myself  and  tried  to  remove  the  snow  to 
one  side.  My  sister  and  I  finished  by  throwing  snowballs  at  each 
other  and  the  vieUe  became  general.  Abbey,  Jarrett,  the  sec- 
retary, and  several  of  the  artistes  joined  in  and  we  were  warmed 
up  through  this  small  battle  with  white  cannon  balls. 

When  dawn  appeared  we  were  to  be  seen  firing  a  revolver 
and  Colt  rifle  at  a  target  made  from  a  champagne  case.  A  dis- 
tant sound,  deadened  by  the  cotton  wool  of  the  snow,  at  length 
made  us  realize  that  help  was  approaching.  As  a  matter  of 
fact,  two  engines  with  men  who  had  shovels,  hooks,  and  spades, 
were  coming  at  full  speed  from  the  opposite  direction.  They 
were  obliged  to  slow  down  on  getting  to  one  kilometer  of  where 
w^e  were,  and  the  men  got  down,  clearing  the  way  before  them. 
They  finally  succeeded  in  reaching  us,  but  we  were  obliged  to 
go  back  and  take  the  western  route.  The  unfortunate  artistes 
who  had  counted  on  getting  breakfast  in  Chicago,  which  we 
ought  to  have  reached  at  eleven  o'clock,  were  lamenting,  for 
with  the  new  itinerary  that  we  were  forced  to  follow,  it  would 
be  half  past  one  before  we  could  get  to  Milwaukee,  where  we 
were  to  give  a  matinee  at  two  o'clock — "  La  Dame  aux  Came- 
lias. "  I  therefore  had  the  best  lunch  I  could  prepared  and  my 
negroes  carried  it  to  my  company,  the  members  of  which  showed 
themselves  very  grateful. 

The  performance  did  not  begin  till  three  and  finished  at  half 
past  six  o'clock;  we  started  again  at  eight  with  "  Froufrou." 

Immediately  after  the  play  was  over  we  left  for  Grand 
Rapids,  Detroit,  Cleveland,  and  Pittsburg,  in  which  latter  city  I 
was  to  meet  an  American  friend  of  mine  who  was  to  help  me  to 
realize  one  of  my  dreams — at  least  I  fancied  so.  In  partnership 
with  his  brother,  my  friend  was  the  owner  of  a  large  steel  works 
and  several  petroleum  wells.  I  had  known  him  in  Paris,  and 
had  met  him  again  at  New  York,  where  he  offered  to  conduct 
me  to  Buffalo  so  that  I  could  visit,  or  rather  where  he  could 

435 


MEMORIES    OF    MY    LIFE 

show  1110,  tlie  Falls  of  Xiaf,'ara,  for  which  he  entertained  a 
lover's  passion.  Fn-quentiy,  lie  would  start  off  quite  unex- 
pectedly, like  a  iiiadnian,  and  take  a  rest  at  a  place  just  near 
the  Niagara  Falls.  The;  deafening  sound  of  the  cataracts 
seemed  like  music  after  the  hard,  hammering,  strident  noise 
of  the  forges  at  work  on  the  iron,  and  the  limpidity  of  the 
silvery  cascades  rested  his  eyes  and  refreshed  his  lungs,  sajp^ 
urated  as  they  were  with  petroleum  and  smoke. 

]\Iy  friend's  buggy,  drawn  by  two  magnificent  horses,  took 
us  along  in  a  bewildering  whirlwind  of  niud  splashing  over  us 
and  snow  blinding  us.  It  had  been  raining  for  a  week  and 
Pittsburg  in  1881  was  not  what  it  is  at  present,  although  it 
was  a  city  which  impressed  one  on  account  of  its  commercial 
genius.  The  black  mud  ran  along  the  streets  and  everywhere  in 
the  sky  rose  huge  patches  of  thick,  black,  opaque  smoke;  but 
there  was  a  certain  grandeur  about  it  all,  for  work  was  king 
there.  Trains  ran  through  the  streets  laden  with  barrels  of 
petroleum  or  piled  as  high  as  possible  with  charcoal  and  coal. 
That  fine  river,  the  Ohio,  carried  along  with  it  steamers,  barges, 
and  loads  of  timber  fastened  together  and  forming  enormous 
rafts  which  floated  down  the  river  alone  to  be  stopped  on  the 
way  by  the  owner  for  whom  they  were  destined.  The  timber  is 
marked  and  no  one  else  thinks  of  taking  it.  I  am  told  that  the 
wood  is  not  conveyed  in  this  way  now  and  it  is  a  pity. 

The  carriage  took  us  along  through  streets  and  squares  in 
the  midst  of  railways,  under  the  enervating  vibration  of  the 
electric  wires  which  ran  like  furrows  across  the  sky.  We 
crossed  a  bridge  which  shook  under  the  light  weight  of  tlie 
buggy.  It  was  a  suspension  bridge.  Finally,  we  drew  up  at 
my  friend's  home.  He  introduced  his  brother  to  me,  a  charm- 
ing man  but  very  cold  and  correct,  and  so  quiet  that  I  was 
astonished. 

"  My  poor  brother  is  deaf,"  said  my  companion,  after  I 
had  been  exerting  nwself  for  five  minutes  to  talk  to  him  in  my 
gentlest  voice.  I  looked  at  this  poor  millionaire  who  was  lining 
in  the  most  extraordinary  noise  and  who  could  not  even  hear 
the  faintest  echo  of  the  outrageous  uproar.     He  could  not  hear 

436 


FROM    THE    GULF    TO    CANADA    AGAIN 

anything  at  all,  and  I  wondered  whether  he  was  to  be  envied 
or  pitied.  I  was  then  taken  to  visit  his  incandescent  ovens  and 
his  vats  in  a  state  of  ebullition.  I  went  into  a  room  Avhere  some 
steel  disks  were  cooling,  which  looked  like  so  many  setting  suns. 
The  heat  from  them  seemed  to  scorch  my  lungs,  and  I  felt  as 
though  my  hair  would  take  fire.  We  then  went  down  a  long, 
narrow  street  through  which  small  trains  were  running  to  and 
fro.  Some  of  those  trains  were  laden  with  incandescent  metals 
which  irised  the  air  as  they  passed.  We  walked  in  single  file 
along  the  narrow  passage  reserved  for  foot  passengers  between 
the  rails.  I  did  not  feel  at  all  safe  and  my  heart  began  to 
beat  fast.  Blown  each  way  by  the  wind  from  the  two  trains 
coming  in  opposite  directions  and  passing  each  other,  I  drew  my 
skirts  closely  round  me  so  that  they  should  not  be  caught. 
Perched  on  my  high  heels,  at  every  step  I  took  I  was  afraid  of 
slipping  on  this  narrow,  greasy,  coal-strewn  pavement.  To  sum 
up  briefly,  it  was  a  very  unpleasant  moment,  and  very  delighted 
I  was  to  come  to  the  end  of  that  interminable  street  which  led 
to  an  enormous  field  stretching  away  as  far  as  the  eye  could 
see.  There  were  rails  lying  all  about  here  which  men  were 
polishing  and  filing,  etc.  I  had  had  quite  enough,  though,  and 
I  asked  to  be  allowed  to  go  back  and  rest.  So  we  all  three  re- 
turned to  the  house. 

On  arriving  there,  valets  arrayed  in  livery  opened  the  doors, 
took  our  furs,  walking  on  tiptoes  as  they  moved  about.  There 
was  silence  everywhere  and  I  wondered  why,  as  it  seemed  to 
me  incomprehensible.  My  friend's  brother  scarcely  spoke  at 
all  and  when  he  did  his  voice  was  so  low  that  I  had  great  dif- 
ficulty in  understanding  him.  When  we  asked  him  any  ques- 
tion by  gesticulating,  and  we  had  to  listen  most  attentively  to 
catch  his  reply,  I  noticed  that  an  almost  imperceptible  smile 
lighted  up  for  an  instant  his  stony  face.  I  understood  very 
soon  that  this  man  hated  humanity  and  that  he  avenged  him- 
self in  his  own  way  for  his  infirmity. 

Lunch  had  been  prepared  for  us  in  the  winter  conservatory, 
a  nook  of  magnificent  verdure  and  flowers.  We  had  not  taken 
our  seats  at  the  table  when  the  songs  of  a  thousand  birds  burst 

437 


MEMORIKS    OF    MY    LIFE 

forth  liko  a  veritable  fanfare.  Underneath  some  larj^e  leaves 
whole  families  of  canaries  were  imprisoned  by  invisible  nets. 
They  were  everywhere,  up  in  the  air,  down  below,  under  my 
chair,  on  the  table  behind  me,  all  over  the  plaee.  I  tried  to 
quiet  this  shrill  uproar  by  shaking  my  napkin  and  speaking  in 
a  loud  voice,  but  the  little  feathered  tribe  began  to  sing  in  a 
maddening  way.  The  deaf  man  was  leaning  back  in  a  rocking 
chair  and  I  noticed  that  his  face  had  lighted  up.  He  laughed 
aloud  in  an  evil,  spiteful  manner.  Just  as  my  own  temper  was 
getting  the  better  of  me,  a  feeling  of  pity  and  indulgence  came 
into  my  heart  for  this  man  whose  vengeance  seemed  to  me  as 
pathetic  as  it  was  puerile.  Promptly  deciding  to  make  the 
best  of  my  host's  spitefulness,  and  assisted  by  his  brother,  I 
took  my  tea  into  the  hall  at  the  other  end  of  the  conservatory. 
I  was  nearly  dead  with  fatigue  and  when  my  friend  proposed 
that  I  should  go  with  him  to  see  his  petroleum  wells,  a  few 
miles  out  of  the  city,  I  gazed  at  him  with  such  a  scared,  hopeless 
expression  that  he  begged  me  in  the  most  friendly  and  polite 
way  to  forgive  him. 

It  was  five  o'clock  and  quite  dusk,  and  I  wanted  to  go  back 

to  my  hotel.     Mr.  Th asked  if  I  would  allow  him  to  take 

me  back  by  the  hills.  The  road  was  rather  longer,  but  I  should 
be  able  to  have  a  bird's-eye  view  of  Pittsburg,  and  he  assured 
me  that  it  was  quite  worth  w'hile.  We  started  off  in  the  buggy 
with  two  fresh  horses  and  a  few  minutes  later  I  had  the  wildest 
dream.  It  seemed  to  me  that  he  was  Pluto,  the  god  of  the 
infernal  regions,  and  I  was  Proserpine.  We  were  traveling 
through  our  empire  at  a  quick  trot,  drawn  by  our  winged  horses. 
All  around  us  w^e  could  see  fire  and  flames.  The  blood-red  sky 
was  burning  w'ith  long,  black  trails  that  looked  like  widows' 
veils.  The  ground  was  covered  with  long  arms  of  iron  stretched 
heavenward  in  a  supreme  imprecation.  These  arms  threw^  forth 
smoke,  flames,  or  sparks  w^hich  fell  again  in  a  shower  of  stars. 
The  carriage  carried  us  on  up  the  hills,  and  the  cold  froze  our 
limbs,  while  the  fires  excited  our  brain.  It  was  then  that  my 
friend  told  me  of  his  love  for  the  Niagara  Falls.  He  spoke  of 
them  more  like  a  lover  than  an  admirer,  and  told  me  he  liked  to 

438 


FROM    THE    GULF    TO    CANADA    AGAIN 

go  to  them  alone.  He  said,  though,  that  foi-  me  he  would  make 
an  exception.  He  spoke  of  the  rapids  with  such  intense  pas- 
sion that  I  felt  rather  uneasy  and  began  to  wonder  whether 
the  man  was  not  mad.  I  grew  alarmed,  for  he  was  driving  along 
over  the  very  tops  of  the  hills,  jumping  the  stone  heaps.  I 
glanced  at  him  sideways;  his  face  was  calm,  but  his  underlip 
twitched  slightly,  and  I  had  noticed  this  peculiarity  with  his 
deaf  brother,  too.  By  this  time  I  was  quite  nervous.  The  cold 
and  the  fires,  this  demoniacal  drive,  the  sound  of  the  anvil  riim- 
ing  out  mournful  chimes  which  seemed  to  come  from  under 
the  earth,  and  then  the  deep  forge  whistle  sounding  like  a  des- 
perate cry  rending  the  silence  of  the  night ;  the  chimney  stacks, 
too,  with  their  worn-out  lungs  spitting  forth  their  smoke  with 
a  perpetual  death  rattle,  and  the  wind  which  had  just  risen 
twisting  the  streaks  of  smoke  into  spirals  which  it  sent  up  to- 
ward the  sky  or  beat  down  all  at  once  on  to  us — altogether  this 
wild  dance,  of  the  natural  and  the  combined  elements,  affected 
my  whole  nervous  system  so  that  it  w^as  quite  time  for  me  to 
get  back  to  the  hotel.  I  sprang  out  of  the  carriage  quickly  on 
arriving  and  arranged  to  see  my  friend  at  Buffalo,  but,  alas! 
I  was  never  to  see  him  again.  He  took  cold  that  very  day  and 
could  not  meet  me  there,  and  the  following  year  I  heard  that 
he  had  been  dashed  against  the  rocks  when  trying  to  boat  iu 
the  rapids.     He  died  of  his  passion,  for  his  passion. 

At  the  hotel  all  the  artistes  were  awaiting  me,  as  I  had 
forgotten  we  were  to  have  a  rehearsal  of  "La  Princesse 
Georges  "  at  half  past  four.  I  noticed  a  face  that  was  ini- 
known  to  me  among  the  members  of  the  company,  and  on  mak- 
ing inquiries  about  this  person  found  that  he  was  an  iliusti-ator 
who  had  brought  an  introduction  from  Jarrett.  He  asked  to  be 
allowed  to  make  a  few  sketches  of  me,  and  after  giving  orders 
that  he  should  be  taken  to  a  seat,  I  did  not  trouble  any  more 
about  him.  We  had  to  hurry  through  the  rehearsal  in  order  to 
be  at  the  theater  in  time  for  the  performance  of  "  Froufrou," 
which  we  were  giving  that  night.  The  rehearsal  was  accordingly 
rushed  and  gabbled  through  so  that  it  was  soon  over,  and  the 
stranger   took  his   departure,   refusing  to   let  me   look   at   his 

439 


MEMORIES    OF    MY    IJFE 

skt'tclu's  on  Iho  plea  that  he  wuutcil  to  do  tliciii  up  before  show- 
ing them.  J\Iy  joy  was  great  the  following  day  when  Jarrett 
arrived  at  my  hotel  perfectly  furious,  holding  in  his  hand  the 
principal  newspaper  of  Pittsburg  in  which  our  illustrator,  who 
turned  out  to  be  a  journalist,  had  written  an  aitidc  giving  at 
full  length  an  account  of  the  dress  rehearsal  of  "  P^roufrou." 
"  In  the  play  of  '  Froufrou,'  "  wrote  this  delightful  imbecile, 
"  there  is  only  on£  scene  of  any  importance  and  that  is  the  one 
between  the  two  sisters.  Mme.  Sarah  Bernhardt  did  not  im- 
press me  greatly  and,  as  to  the  artistes  of  the  Comedie  Fran- 
gaise,  I  considered  they  were  medicore.  The  costumes  were  not 
very  fine,  and  in  the  ball  scene  the  men  did  not  wear  dress  suits. ' ' 
Jarrett  was  wild  with  rage,  and  I  was  wild  with  joy. 
He  knew  my  horror  of  reporters  and  he  had  introduced  this 
one  in  an  underhand  way,  hoping  to  get  a  good  advertisement 
out  of  it.  The  journalist  imagined  that  we  were  having  a 
dress  rehearsal  of  "  Froufrou,"  and  we  were  merely  rehearsing 
Alexandre  Dumas'  "  Princesse  Georges  "  for  the  sake  of  re- 
freshing our  memories.  He  had  mistaken  the  scene  between  the 
Princesse  Georges  and  the  Comtesse  de  Terremonde  for  the  scene 
in  the  third  act  between  the  tW'O  sisters  in  **  Froufrou."  We 
were  all  of  us  wearing  our  traveling  costumes  and  he  was  sur- 
prised at  not  seeing  the  men  in  dress  coats  and  the  women  in 
evening  dress.  What  fun  this  was  for  our  company,  and  for  all 
the  town,  and  I  may  add,  what  a  subject  it  furnished  for  the 
jokes  of  all  the  rival  newspapers! 


440 


CHAPTER    XXX 

END   OF   MY   AMERICAN   TOUR 

I  HAD  to  play  two  days  at  Pittsburg,  and  then  go  on 
to  Bradford,  Erie,  Toronto,  and  arrive  at  Buffalo 
on  Sunday.  It  was  my  intention  to  give  all  the 
members  of  my  company  a  day's  entertainment  at 
the  Falls,  but  Abbey,  too,  wanted  to  invite  them.  We  had  a  dis- 
cussion on  the  subject  which  was  extremely  animated.  He  was 
very  dictatorial  and  so  was  I,  and  we  both  preferred  giving  the 
whole  thing  up  rather  than  yield  to  each  other.  Jarrett,  how- 
ever, pointed  out  the  fact  to  us  that  our  autocracy  would  de- 
prive the  artistes  of  a  little  festivity  about  which  they  had 
heard  a  great  deal  and  to  which  they  were  looking  forward. 
We  therefore  gave  in  finally,  and  in  order  to  settle  the  matter 
we  agreed  to  share  this  fete  between  us.  The  artistes  accepted 
our  invitations  with  the  most  charming  good  grace,  and  we 
took  the  train  for  Buffalo,  where  we  arrived  at  ten  minutes 
past  six  in  the  morning.  We  had  telegraphed  beforehand  for 
carriages  and  coffee  to  be  in  readiness  and  to  have  food  pro- 
vided for  us,  as  it  is  simply  madness  for  thirty-two  persons  to 
arrive  on  Sunday  in  an  American  town  without  giving  notice 
of  such  an  event.  We  had  a  special  train  going  at  full  speed 
over  the  lines  that  were  entirely  free  on  Sundays,  and  it  was 
decorated  with  festoons  of  flowers.  The  younger  artistes  were 
as  delighted  as  children,  those  who  had  already  seen  everything 
before,  told  about  it ;  then  there  was  the  eloquence  of  those  who 
had  heard  of  it,  etc.,  etc.,  and  all  this  together  with  the  little 
bouquets  of  flowers  distributed  among  the  women  and  the  cigars 

441 


.Mi:.M()KIi:S    OF    MV    lAVK 

.111(1  cigarettes  presented  to  the  men,  made  everyone  f?ood- 
liuiiiored,  so  that  all  appeared  to  be  happy.  The  earriaf^es  met 
our  train  and  took  ns  to  the  Hotel  d'Angleterre  which  had  been 
kept  open  for  us.  There  were  flowers  everywhere  and  any  num- 
ber of  small  tables  upon  which  were  coflfee,  chocolate,  or  tea. 
Every  table  was  soon  surrounded  with  guests.  I  had  my 
sister,  Abbey,  Jarrett,  and  the  principal  artistes  at  my  table. 
The  meal  was  of  short  duration  and  very  gay  and  animated. 
We  then  went  to  the  Falls,  and  I  remained  more  than  an  hour 
on  the  balcony  hollowed  out  of  the  rock.  My  eyes  filled  with 
tears  as  I  stood  there  for  I  was  deeply  moved  by  the  splendor 
of  the  sight.  A  radiant  sun  made  the  air  around  us  iridescent. 
There  were  rainbows  everywhere  lighting  up  the  atmosphere 
with  their  soft  silvery  colors.  The  coulees  of  hard  ice  hanging 
down  along  the  rocks  on  each  side  looked  like  enormous  jewels. 
I  was  sorry  to  leave  this  balcony,  and  we  went  down  in  nar- 
row cages  which  glided  gently  into  a  tube  arranged  in  the 
cleft  of  the  enormous  rock.  "We  arrived  in  this  way  under  the 
American  Falls.  They  were  there  almost  over  our  heads, 
sprinkling  us  with  their  blue,  pink,  and  mauve  drops.  In  front 
of  us,  protecting  ils  from  the  Falls,  w^ere  a  heap  of  icicles  form- 
ing quite  a  little  mountain.  We  climbed  over  this  to  the  best 
of  our  ability.  My  hea\^  fur  mantle  tired  me  and  about  half 
way  down  I  took  it  off  and  let  it  slip  over  the  side  of  the  ice 
mountain  to  take  it  again  when  I  reached  the  bottom.  I  was 
wearing  a  dress  of  w^hite  cloth  "with  a  satin  blouse  and  every- 
one screamed  with  surprise  on  seeing  me.  Abbe.y  took  off  his 
overcoat  and  threw  it  over  my  shoulders.  I  shook  this  off 
quickly  and  Abbey's  coat  went  to  join  ray  fur  cloak  below. 
The  poor  inipresario^s  face  looked  very  blank.  As  he  had 
taken  a  fair  quantity  of  cocktails  he  staggered,  fell  down  on 
the  ice,  got  up  and  immediately  fell  again  to  the  amusement  of 
everyone.  I  was  not  at  all  cold  as  I  never  am  when  out  of  doors. 
I  only  feel  the  cold  inside  houses  or  in  any  place  where  I  am  in- 
active. Finally,  we  arrived  at  the  highest  point  of  the  ice  and 
the  cataract  was  really  most  threatening.  We  were  covered  by 
the  impalpable  mist  which  rises  in  the  midst  of  the  tumultuous 

442 


END    OF    MY    AMERICAN    TOUR 

noise.  I  gazed  at  it  all,  bewildered  and  fascinated  by  the  rapid 
movement  of  the  water  which  looked  like  a  wide  curtain  of 
silver,  unfolding  itself  to  be  dashed  violently  into  a  rebound- 
ing, splashing  heap  with  a  noise  unlike  any  sound  I  had  ever 
heard.  I  very  easily  turn  dizzy  and  I  know  very  well  that  if 
I  had  been  alone  I  should  have  remained  there  forever  with 
my  eye  fixed  on  the  sheet  of  water  hurrying  along  at  full  speed, 
my  mind  lulled  by  the  fascinating  sound,  and  my  limbs  numbed 
by  the  treacherous  cold  which  encircled  us.  I  had  to  be  dragged 
away,  but  I  am  soon  myself  again  when  confronted  by  an 
obstacle. 

"We  had  to  go  down  again  and  this  was  not  as  easy  as  it  had 
been  to  climb  up.  I  took  the  walking  stick  belonging  to  one  of 
my  friends  and  then  sat  down  on  the  ice.  By  putting  the  stick 
under  my  legs  I  was  able  to  slide  down  to  the  bottom.  All  the 
others  imitated  me  and  it  was  a  comical  sight  to  see  forty  people 
descending  this  ice  hill  in  this  way.  There  were  several  somer- 
saults and  collisions  and  plenty  of  laughter.  A  quarter  of  an 
hour  later  we  were  all  at  the  hotel  where  luncheon  had  been 
ordered. 

We  were  all  cold  and  hungiy;  it  was  warm  inside  the  hotel 
and  the  meal  smelled  good.  When  luncheon  was  over,  the  land- 
lord of  the  hotel  asked  me  to  go  into  a  small  drawing-room, 
where  a  surprise  awaited  me.  On  entering,  I  saw  on  a  table 
protected  under  a  long  glass  box,  the  Niagara  Falls  in  miniature 
with  the  rocks  looking  like  pebbles.  A  large  glass  represented 
the  sheet  of  water  and  glass  threads  represented  the  Falls.  Here 
and  there  was  some  foliage  of  a  hard,  crude  green.  Standing 
up  ou  a  little  hillock  of  ice  was  a  figure  intended  for  me.  It 
was  enough  to  make  anyone  howl  with  horror,  it  was  all  so 
hideous.  I  managed  to  raise  a  broad  smile  for  the  benefit  of 
the  hotel  keeper  by  way  of  congratulating  him  on  his  good  taste, 
but   I   was   petrified   on   recognizing  the  man   servant   of   the 

Th brothers  of  Pittsburg.     They  had  sent  this  monstrous 

caricature  of  the  most  beautiful  thing  in  the  world.  I  read 
the  letter  which  their  domestic  handed  me  and  all  my  disdain 
melted  away;  they  had  gone  to  so  much  trouble  in  order  to 

443 


MKMOIUKS    OF    MV    I.IFE 

oxplnin  Avhat  tlioy  wanted  me  to  iiiiderstand  and  they  were  so 
delighted  at  the  idea  of  giving  nic  any  pleasure.  I  dismissed 
the  valet  after  giving  him  a  letter  for  his  masters,  and  1  asked 
the  hotel  keeper  to  send  the  work  of  art  to  Paris  packed  care- 
fully. I  hoped  that  it  might  arrive  in  fragments.  The  thought 
of  it  haunted  me,  though,  and  I  wondered  how  my  friend's  pas- 
sion for  the  Falls  could  be  reconciled  with  the  idea  of  such  a 
gift.  While  admitting  that  his  imaginative  mind  might  have 
hoped  to  be  able  to  carry  out  his  idea,  how  was  it  that  he  was 
not  indignant  at  the  sight  of  this  grotesque  imitation?  How 
had  he  dared  to  send  it  to  mel  How  was  it  that  my  friend 
loved  the  Falls,  and  what  had  he  understood  of  their  marvelous 
grandeur?  Since  his  death  I  have  questioned  my  own  memory 
of  him  a  hundred  times,  but  all  in  vain.  He  died  for  them, 
rolling  about  in  their  waters,  killed  by  their  caresses,  and  I 
cannot  think  that  he  could  ever  have  seen  how  beautiful  they 
really  were.  Fortunately,  I  was  called  away,  as  the  carriage 
was  there  and  everyone  waiting  for  me.  The  horses  started 
oft  with  us,  trotting  in  that  weary  way  peculiar  to  tourists' 
horses. 

When  we  arrived  on  the  Canadian  shore  we  had  to  go  under- 
ground and  array  ourselves  in  black  or  yellow  mackintoshes. 
We  looked  like  so  many  heavy,  dumpy  sailors  who  were  wearing 
these  garments  for  the  first  time.  There  Avere  two  large  cells 
to  shelter  us,  one  for  the  women  and  the  other  for  the  men. 
Everyone  undressed  more  or  less  in  the  midst  of  wild  confusion, 
and  making  a  little  package  of  our  clothes  we  gave  this  into 
the  keeping  of  the  woman  in  charge.  With  the  mackintosh 
hood  drawn  tightly  under  the  chin  hiding  the  hair  entirely,  an 
enormous  blouse  much  too  wide  covering  the  whole  body,  fur 
boots  with  rough  soles  to  prevent  broken  legs  and  heads, 
and  immense  mackintosh  breeches  in  Zouave  style,  the  prettiest 
and  slenderest  woman  was  at  once  transformed  into  a  huge, 
cumbersome,  awkward  bear.  An  iron-tipped  cudgel  to  carry 
in  the  hand  completed  this  becoming  costume.  I  looked  more 
ridiculous  than  the  others  for  I  would  not  cover  my  hair,  and 
in  the  most  pretentious  way  I  had  fastened  some  roses  into  my 

444 


END    OF    MY    AMERICAN    TOUR 

mackintosh  blouse.  The  women  went  into  raptures  on  seeing 
me.  ' '  How  pretty  she  looks  like  that !  ' '  they  exclaimed.  ' '  She 
always  finds  a  way  to  be  chic,  quand-memcl  "  The  men  kissed 
my  bear's  paw  in  the  most  gallant  way,  bowing  low  and  saying 
in  low  tones:  "  Always  and  quand-meme  the  queen,  the  fairy, 
the  goddess,  the  divinity,"  etc.,  etc.  .  .  .  And  I  went  along 
purring  with  content  and  quite  satisfied  with  myself  until,  as  I 
passed  by  the  counter  where  the  girl  who  gives  the  tickets  was 
sitting,  I  caught  sight  of  myself  in  the  glass.  I  looked  enor- 
mous and  ridiculous  with  my  roses  pinned  in  and  the  curly 
locks  of  hair  forming  a  kind  of  peak  to  my  clumsy  hood.  I 
appeared  to  be  stouter  than  all  the  others  because  of  the  silver 
belt  I  was  wearing  round  my  waist,  as  this  drew  up  the  hard 
folds  of  the  mackintosh  round  my  hips.  My  tliin  face  was 
nearly  covered  by  my  hair  which  was  flattened  down  by  ray 
hood.  My  eyes  could  not  be  seen  and  only  my  mouth,  wliieh 
is  rather  large,  served  to  show  that  this  barrel  was  a  human 
being.  Furious  with  myself  for  my  pretentious  coquetry  and 
ashamed  of  my  own  weakness  for  having  been  so  content 
with  the  pitiful,  insincere  flattery  of  people  who  were  mak- 
ing fun  of  me,  I  decided  to  remain  as  I  was  as  a  punishment 
for  my  stupid  vanity.  There  were  a  number  of  strangers 
among  us  who  nudged  each  other,  pointing  to  me  and  laugh- 
ing slyly  at  my  absurd  get-up,  and  this  was  only  what  I 
deserved. 

We  went  down  the  flight  of  steps  cut  in  the  block  of  ice 
in  order  to  get  underneath  the  Canadian  Falls.  The  sight  there 
was  most  strange  and  extraordinary.  Above  me  I  saw  an  im- 
mense cupola  of  ice  hanging  over  in  space,  attached  only  on 
one  side  to  the  rock.  From  this  cupola  thousands  of  icicles 
of  the  most  varied  shapes  were  hanging.  There  M^ere  dragons, 
arrows,  crosses,  laughing  faces,  sorrowful  faces,  hands  witli 
six  fingers,  deformed  feet,  incomplete  human  bodies,  and 
women's  long  locks  of  hair.  In  fact,  with  the  help  of  the  imagi- 
nation, and  by  fixing  the  gaze  when  looking  with  half-shut  eyes, 
the  illusion  is  complete,  and  in  less  time  than  it  takes  to  de- 
scribe all  this,  one  can  evoke  all  the  pictures  of  nature  and  of 

445 


MKAIOIUKS    OF    MY    LIFE 

our  (Iroaijis,  nil  the  wild  corHieplioiis  of  a  disc'ased  mind  or  llic* 
realities  oi"  a  refleetive  brain. 

In  fi-oiit  of  us  wvrr,  small  steeples  of  ice,  some  of  th<'m  proud 
and  erect,  standing,'  out  against  the  sky,  others  ravaged  by  the 
wind  which  ^naws  the  ice,  looking  like  minarets  ready  for  the 
muezzin.  On  the  right  a  cascade  was  rushing  down  as  noisily 
as  on  the  other  side,  but  the  sun  had  commenced  its  evolution 
toward  the  west  and  everything  was  tinged  with  a  rosy  hue. 
The  water  splashed  over  us  and  we  were  suddenly  covered  with 
small  silvery  waves  that  fell  over  us,  and  which  when  shaken 
slightly  stiffened  against  our  mackintoshes.  It  was  a  shoal  of 
very  small  fish  which  had  had  the  misfortune  to  be  driven 
into  the  current  and  which  had  come  to  die  in  the  dazzling  bril- 
liancy of  the  setting  sun.  On  the  other  side  there  was  a  small 
block  which  looked  like  a  rhinoceros  entering  the  water, 

"  I  should  love  to  mount  on  that,"  I  exclaimed. 

"  Yes,  but  it  is  impossible,"  replied  one  of  my  friends, 

"  Oh,  as  to  that,  nothing  is  impossible!  "  I  said,  "  There  is 
only  the  risk,  the  crevasse  to  be  covered  is  not  a  yard  long, ' ' 

"  No,  but  it  is  deep,"  remarked  an  artiste  who  was  with  us. 

"  Well,"  I  said,  "  my  dog  is  just  dead.  We  will  bet  a  dog 
of  my  choice  that  I  go. " 

Abbey  was  fetched  immediately,  but  he  arrived  only  in  time 
to  see  me  there.  I  came  very  near  falling  into  the  crevasse,  and 
when  I  was  on  the  back  of  the  rhinoceros  I  could  not  stand  up. 
It  was  as  smooth  and  transparent  as  artificial  ice.  I  sat  down 
on  its  back  holding  on  to  the  little  hump,  and  I  declared  that 
if  no  one  came  to  fetch  me  I  should  stay  w^here  I  was,  as  I  had 
not  the  courage  to  move  a  step  on  this  slippery  back  and  then, 
too,  it  seemed  to  me  as  though  it  moved  slightly.  I  began  to 
lose  my  self-possession,  I  felt  dizzy,  but  I  had  won  my  dog. 
My  excitement  w^as  over  and  I  was  seized  with  fright.  Every- 
one gazed  at  me  in  a  bewildered  way  and  that  increased  my 
terror.  JNIy  sister  went  into  hysterics,  and  my  dear  Guerard 
groaned  in  a  heartrending  way :  "0  God,  my  dear  Sarah ! 
0  God!  "  The  artist  Avas  making  sketches  and  fortunately 
the  company  had  gone  on  up  in  order  to  get  to  the  rapids  in 

446 


END    OF    ]\IY    AMERICAN    TOUR 

time.  Abbey  besought  me  to  return;  poor  Jarrett  besought 
me.  But  I  felt  dizzy  and  I  could  not  and  would  not  cross 
again.  Angelo  then  sprang  across  the  crevasse  and  remaining 
there  called  for  a  plank  of  wood  and  a  hatchet. 

' '  Bravo !  Bravo !  "  I  exclaimed  from  the  back  of  my 
rhinoceros. 

The  plank  was  brought.  It  was  an  old,  black-looking  piece 
of  wood  and  I  glanced  at  it  suspiciously.  The  hatchet  cut  into 
the  tail  of  my  rhinoceros  and  the  plank  was  fixed  firmly  by 
Angelo  on  my  side  and  held  by  Abbey,  Jarrett,  and  Claude,  on 
the  other.  I  let  myself  slide  over  the  crupper  of  my  rhinoceros 
and  I  then  started,  not  without  terror,  along  the  rotten  plank 
of  wood  which  was  so  narrow  that  I  was  obliged  to  put  one 
foot  in  front  of  the  other,  the  heel  over  the  toe.  I  returned  in 
a  very  feverish  state  to  the  hotel,  and  the  artist  brought  me  the 
droll  sketches  he  had  made. 

After  a  light  luncheon  I  was  to  start  again  by  the  train 
which  had  been  w^aiting  for  us  twenty  minutes.  All  the  others 
had  taken  their  places  some  time  before.  I  was  leaving  with- 
out having  seen  the  rapids  in  which  my  poor  Pittsburg  friend 
met  his  death. 

Our  great  voyage  was  drawing  toward  its  close.  I  say  great 
voyage  for  it  was  my  first  one.  It  lasted  for  eight  months.  The 
voyages  I  have  since  undertaken  were  always  from  eleven  to 
sixteen  months. 

From  Buffalo  w^e  went  to  Rochester,  Utica,  Syracuse,  Albany, 
Troy,  Worcester,  Providence,  Newark,  making  a  short  stay  in 
Washington,  an  admirable  city,  but  which  at  that  time  had  a 
sadness  about  it  that  affected  one's  nerves.  It  was  the  last  large 
city  I  visited. 

After  two  admirable  performances  and  a  supper  at  the  Em- 
bassy we  left  for  Baltimore,  Philadelphia,  and  New  York,  where 
our  tour  was  to  come  to  a  close.  In  that  city  I  gave  a  grand 
matinee  at  the  general  demand  of  the  artistes  of  New  York. 
The  piece  chosen  was  the  "  Princesse  Georges." 

Oh,  what  a  fine  and  never-to-be-forgotten  performance! 
Everything  was  applauded  by  the  artistes.    Nothing  escaped  the 

447 


MEMORIES    OF    MY    LIFE 

])jirlioiilar  state  of  iiiiml  of  jliiit  audionco  made  np  of  actors 
and  acti-esses,  painters  and  sculptors.  At  tlic  end  of  the  play 
a  gold  hair  eonib  was  handed  to  me  on  which  was  engraved 
the  names  of  a  great  number  of  persons  i)resent.  From  Salvini, 
I  received  a  pretty  casket  of  lapis,  and  from  IMary  Anderson, 
at  that  time  in  the  striking  beauty  of  her  nineteen  years,  a 
small  medal  bearing  a  forget-me-not  in  tur(|Uoise.  In  ray  dress- 
ing-room I  counted  one  hundred  and  thirty   bouquets. 

That  evening  we  gave  our  last  performance  with  "  La  Dame 
aux  Camelias. "  I  had  to  return  and  bow  to  the  public  fourteen 
times. 

Then  I  had  a  moment's  stupefaction,  for  in  the  tempest  of 
cries  and  bravos,  I  heard  a  shrill  cry  shouted  by  thousands  of 
mouths  and  which  I  did  not  in  the  least  understand.  After 
each  recall  I  asked  in  the  wings  what  the  meaning  of  the  word 
was  that  struck  on  my  ears  like  a  dreadful  sneeze,  beginning 
again  time  after  time.  Jarrett  appeared  and  enlightened  me. 
"  They  are  calling  for  a  speech."  I  looked  at  him  abashed.  .  .  . 
"  Yes,  they  want  you  to  make  them  a  little  speech."  "  Ah,  no!  " 
I  exclaimed,  as  I  again  went  on  to  the  stage  to  make  a  bow. 
* '  No. ' '  And  in  making  my  bow  to  the  public  I  murmured :  "  I 
cannot  speak.  But  I  can  tell  you,  thank  you,  with  all  my 
heart!  "  It  w^as  in  the  midst  of  a  thunder  of  applause,  under- 
scored with  ' '  Hip  !  hip !  hurrah !  Vive  la  France !  ' '  that  I  left 
the  theater. 

On  Wednesday,  the  4th  of  May,  I  embarked  on  the  same 
transatlantic  steamer,  L'Amerique,  the  phantom  vessel  to  which 
my  journey  had  brought  good  luck.  But  it  had  no  longer  the 
same  commander.  The  new  one's  name  was  Santelli.  He  was 
as  little  and  fair  complexioned  as  the  other  was  big  and  dark. 
But  he  was  as  charming  and  a  nice  conversationalist. 

My  cabin  had  been  newly  fitted  up,  and  this  time  the  wood- 
work had  been  covered  in  sky-blue  material.  On  going  on  the 
steamer  I  turned  toward  the  friendly  crowd  and  threw  them 
a  last  adieu.     "  Au  revoir,'^  they  shouted  back. 

I  then  went  toward  my  cabin.  Standing  at  the  door  in  an 
elegant  iron-gray  suit,  wearing  pointed  shoes,  hat  in  the  latest 

448 


END    OF    IVIY    AMERICAN    TOUR 

style,  and  wearing  dogskin  gloves,  stood  Henry  Smith,  the  show- 
man of  whales.  I  gave  a  cry  like  that  of  a  wild  beast.  He  kept 
his  joyful  smile  and  held  out  a  jewel  casket  which  I  took  with 
the  object  of  throwing  it  into  the  sea  through  the  open  porthole. 
But  Jarrett  caught  hold  of  my  arm  and  took  possession  of  the 
casket  which  he  opened.  "It  is  magnificent!  "  he  exclaimed, 
but  I  had  closed  my  eyes.  I  stopped  up  my  ears  and  cried  out 
to  the  man:  "  Go  away!  you  knave!  you  brute!  go  away.  I 
hope  you  will  die  under  atrocious  suffering!     Go  away!  " 

I  half  opened  my  eyes.  He  had  gone.  Jarrett  wanted  to 
talk  to  me  about  the  present.  I  would  not  hear  anything 
about  it. 

"  Ah,  for  God's  sake,  Mr.  Jarrett,  leave  me  alone!  Since 
this  jewel  is  so  fine,  give  it  to  your  daughter  and  do  not  speak 
to  me  about  it  any  more."     And  this  was  done. 

The  evening  before  my  departure  from  America  I  had  re- 
ceived a  long  cablegram  signed  Grosos,  President  of  the  Life 
Saving  Society  at  Havre,  asking  me  to  give  a  performance  for 
the  benefit  of  the  families  of  the  society  upon  my  arrival.  I 
accepted  with  unspeakable  joy.  On  regaining  my  native  land 
I  should  assist  in  drying  tears. 

After  the  decks  had  been  cleared  for  departure,  our  ship 
oscillated  slightly,  and  we  left  New  York  on  Thursday,  the  otli 
of  May. 

Detesting  as  I  usually  do  sea  traveling  I  set  out  this  time 
with  a  light  heart  and  smiling  face,  disdainful  of  the  horrible 
discomfort  caused  by  the  voyage. 

We  had  not  left  New  York  forty-eight  hours  when  the  boat 
stopped.  I  sprang  out  of  my  berth  and  was  soon  on  deck  fear- 
ing some  accident  to  our  boat.  Phantom,  as  we  had  nicknamed 
it.  In  front  of  us  a  French  boat  had  raised,  lowered,  and 
again  raised  its  small  flags.  The  captain,  who  had  given  the 
replies  to  these  signals,  sent  for  me  and  explained  to  me  the 
working  and  the  orthography  of  the  signals.  I  could  not  re- 
member anything  he  told  me,  I  must  confess  to  my  shame.  A 
small  boat  was  lowered  from  the  ship  opposite  us  and  two 
sailors  and  a  young  man,  very  poorly  dressed  and  witli  a  pale 
30  449 


mi:m()iiies  of  mv  life 

faco,  ('nil)ai-k('(l.  Our  captain  had  llic  steps  lowered,  the  small 
boat  aeeosted,  aiitl  the  youii^'  man  eseorted  by  two  sailors  came 
on  deck.  One  of  them  handed  a  letter  to  the  officer  who  was 
waiting;  at  the  top  of  the  steps.  He  read  it  and,  lookinj;  at  the 
yoiin}?  man,  he  said  quietly,  "  Follow  me."  The  small  boat 
and  the  sailors  returned  to  the  ship,  the  boat  was  hoisted,  the 
eng:ine  shrieked,  and  after  the  usual  salute  the  two  ships  con- 
tinued their  way.  The  unfortunate  young  man  was  brought 
before  the  captain.  I  went  away  after  asking  the  captain  to 
tell  me  afterwards  what  was  the  meaning  of  it  all  unless  it 
should  prove  to  be  something  which  had  to  be  kept  secret. 

The  captain  came  himself  and  told  me  some  time  after.  The 
young  man  was  a  poor  artist,  a  wood  engraver  who  had  managed 
to  slip  aboard  a  steamer  bound  for  New  York.  lie  had  not 
a  cent  of  money  for  his  passage,  as  he  had  not  even  been  able 
to  pay  for  an  immigrant's  ticket.  lie  had  hoped  to  get  through 
without  being  noticed,  hiding  under  the  bales  of  varioiLs  kinds. 
He  hail,  how^ever,  been  taken  ill  and  it  was  this  illness  which 
had  betrayed  him.  Shivering  with  cold  and  feveri.sh  he  had 
talked  aloud  in  his  sleep,  uttering  the  most  incoherent  words. 
He  was  taken  into  the  infirmary  and  when  there  he  had  con- 
fessed everything.  The  captain  undertook  to  make  him  accept 
what  I  sent  him  for  his  journey  to  America.  The  story  soon 
spread  and  other  passengers  made  a  collection  so  that  the  young 
engraver  found  himself  very  soon  in  possession  of  a  fortune 
of  £48.  Three  days  later  he  brought  me  a  little  wooden  box, 
manufactured,  carved,  and  engraved  by  him.  This  little  box 
is  now  nearly  full  of  petals  of  flowers  for  every  year  on  the 
7th  of  May  I  receive  a  small  bouquet  of  flowers  with  these 
words,  always  the  same  ones,  year  after  year:  "  Gratitude  and 
Devotion."  I  always  put  the  petals  of  the  flowers  into  the 
little  box,  but  for  the  last  seven  years  I  have  not  received  any. 
Is  it  forgetfulness  or  death  which  has  caused  the  artist  to  dis- 
continue this  graceful  little  token  of  gratitude  ?  I  have  no  idea, 
but  the  sight  of  the  box  always  gives  me  a  vague  feeling  of  sad- 
ness as  forgetfulness  and  death  are  the  most  faithful  com- 
panions of  the  human  being.     Forgetfulness  takes  up  its  abode 

450 


END    OF    MY    AMERICAN    TOUR 

in  our  mind,  in  our  heart,  while  Death  is  always  here  laying 
traps  for  us,  watching  all  we  do,  and  jeering  gayly  when  sleep 
closes  our  eyes,  for  we  give  him  then  the  illusion  of  what  he 
knows  will  some  day  be  a  reality. 

Apart  from  the  above  incident,  nothing  particular  linp- 
pened  during  the  voyage.  I  spent  every  night  on  deck,  gazing 
at  the  horizon,  hoping  to  draw  toward  me  that  land  on  which 
were  the  loved  ones.  I  turned  in  toward  morning  and  slept 
all  day  to  kill  the  time. 

The  boats  in  those  days  did  not  perform  the  crossing  with 
the  speed  of  to-day.  The  hours  seemed  to  me  to  be  wickedly 
long.  I  was  so  impatient  to  land  that  I  called  for  the  doctor 
and  asked  him  to  send  me  to  sleep  for  eighteen  hours.  He  gave 
me  twelve  hours'  sleep  with  a  strong  dose  of  chloral  and  I  felt 
stronger  and  calmer  for  confronting  the  shock  of  happiness. 

Santelli  had  promised  that  we  should  arrive  on  the  evening 
of  the  14th.  I  was  ready  and  had  pawed  the  ground  dis- 
tractedly for  an  hour  when  an  officer  came  to  ask  whether  I 
would  not  go  on  to  the  bridge  with  the  commander  who  was 
waiting  for  me. 

With  my  sister  I  went  in  haste  on  to  the  bridge,  and  soon 
understood  from  the  embarrassed  circumlocutions  of  thi^  amiable 
Santelli  that  we  were  too  far  off  to  hope  to  make  the  harbor 
that  night. 

I  began  to  cry.  I  thought  we  should  never  arrive.  I  im- 
agined that  the  Gnome  was  going  to  triumph  and  I  wept  those 
tears  that  were  like  a  brook  that  runs  on  and  on  without  ceasing. 

The  commander  did  what  he  could  to  bring  me  to  a  rational 
state  of  mind.  I  descended  from  the  bridge  with  both  body 
and  soul  like  limpid  rags. 

I  lay  down  on  a  straw  deck  chair  and  when  dawn  came 
was  benumbed  and  sleepy.  It  was  five  in  the  morning.  We 
were  still  twenty  miles  off  land.  The  sun,  however,  began  joy- 
ously to  brighten  up  the  small  white  clouds,  light  as  snowtlakes. 
The  look  of  the  loved  one  gave  me  courage  again.  I  ran  to- 
ward my  cabin.  I  spent  a  long  while  over  my  toilet  in  order 
to  kill  time.     At  seven  o'clock  I  made  inquiries  from  the  cap- 

451 


MEMORIES    OF    MY    LIFE 

tain.  "  We  are  twelve  miles  off,"  he  said.  "  In  two  hours 
wc  shall  land."  "You  swear  to  it?"  "Yes,  I  sw.-ar."  I 
returned  on  deek,  where,  leaning  on  the  hulwark,  I  seanned  the 
distance,  A  small  steamer  appeared  on  the  horizon.  I  saw 
it  without  looking:  at  it,  expeeting  every  minute  to  hear  the  ery 
"  Over  there!  Over  there!  "  All  at  once  I  noticed  ma.s.ses 
of  small  white  flags  being  waved  on  the  small  steamer.  I  got 
hold  of  my  glass  .  .  .  and  let  it  fall  with  a  joyous  cry  that  h'ft 
me  without  any  strength,  without  breath.  I  wanted  to  speak. 
I  could  not.  My  face,  it  appears,  became  so  pale  that  it  fright- 
ened the  people  who  were  about.  ]\Iy  sister  Jeanne  wept  as 
she  waved  her  arms  toward  the  distance.  They  wanted  to  make 
me  sit  down.  I  w^ould  not.  Hanging  on  to  the  bulwarks,  I 
smell  the  salts  that  are  thrust  under  my  nose.  I  allow  friendly 
hands  to  wipe  my  temples,  but  I  am  gazing  over  there  whence 
the  vessel  is  coming.  Over  there  lies  my  happiness!  my  joy! 
my  life !  my  everj^thing !  dearer  than  everything ! 

The  Diamond  (the  vessel's  name)  comes  near.  A  bridge 
of  love  is  formed  between  the  small  and  large  ship,  a  bridge 
placed  under  the  beatings  of  our  hearts,  under  the  weight  of 
the  kisses  that  have  been  kept  back  for  how  many  days.  Then 
comes  the  reaction  that  takes  place  in  our  tears  when  the  young 
being  that  one  worships  is  pressed  to  one's  bosom  under  the  spell 
of  an  undefinable  emotion. 

The  big  ship  is  invaded.  Everyone  is  there,  my  dear  and 
faithful  friends.  They  have  accompanied  my  young  son  ]Mau- 
rice.  Ah,  what  a  delicious  time!  Answers  get  ahead  of  ques- 
tions. Laughter  is  mingled  wnth  tears.  Hands  are  pressed, 
lips  are  kissed,  only  to  begin  over  again.  One  is  never  tired  of 
this  repetition  of  tender  affection.  During  this  time,  our  boat 
is  moving.  The  Diamond  has  disappeared  carrying  away  the 
mails.  The  farther  we  advance,  the  more  small  boats  are  met 
with,  decked  with  flags,  plowing  the  sea.  There  are  a  hundred 
at  least.     Here  are  others. 

"  Is  it  a  public  holiday?  "  I  asked  Georges  Boyer,  the  cor- 
respondent of  the  Figaro,  who  with  friends  had  come  to 
meet  me. 

452 


END    OF    MY    AMERICAN    TOUR 

"  Oh,  yes,  madame,  a  great  fete  day  to-day  at  Havre,  for 
they  are  expecting  the  return  of  a  fairy  who  left  seven  months 
ago!  " 

''Is  it  really  in  my  honor  that  all  these  pretty  boats  have 
spread  their  wings  and  beflagged  their  masts.  Ah,  how  happy 
I  am!  "  At  this  moment  we  go  alongside  the  jetty.  Tliere 
are  perhaps  twenty  thousand  people  there  who  cry  out :  "  Vive 
Sarah  Bernhardt !  ' ' 

I  am  dumfounded.  I  do  not  expect  any  triumphant  re- 
turn. I  am  well  aware  that  the  performance  given  for  the 
Life  Saving  Society  has  won  the  hearts  of  the  people  of  Havre, 
but  I  learn  that  trains  have  come  from  Paris,  packed  with 
people,  to  welcome  my  return. 

I  feel  my  pulse.  ...  It  is  I.  ...  I  am  not  dreaming.  .  .  . 

The  boat  stops  opposite  a  red  velvet  tent  and  an  invisible 
orchestra  strikes  up  an  air  from  the  Chalet :  ' '  Arretons-nous 
ici." 

I  smile  at  this  quite  French  childishness.  I  get  oif  .  .  .  and 
walk  through  the  midst  of  a  hedge  of  smiling,  kind  faces  of 
sailors  who  ofiCcr  me  flowers. 

Within  the  tent  all  the  life  savers  are  waiting  for  me,  wear- 
ing on  their  broad  chests  the  medals  they  have  so  well  deserved. 

Mr.  Grosos,  the  president,  reads  to  me  the  following  address : 

"  Madame,  as  president,  I  have  the  honor  to  present  to  you 
a  delegation  from  the  Life  Saving  Society  of  Havre,  who  have 
come  to  welcome  you  and  express  their  gratitude  for  the  sym- 
pathy you  have  so  warmly  wordetl  in  your  transatlantic  dis- 
patch. 

**  We  have  also  come  to  congratulate  you  on  the  immense 
success  that  you  have  met  with  at  every  place  you  have  visited 
during  your  adventurous  journey.  You  have  now  concpiered 
in  two  worlds  an  incontestable  popularity  and  artistic  celf^brity, 
and  your  marvelous  talent,  added  to  your  personal  charms,  has 
affirmed  abroad  that  France  is  always  the  land  of  art  and  the 
birthplace  of  elegance  and  beauty. 

"  A  yet  distant  echo  of  the  words  you  spoke  in  Denmark, 

453 


mi:m()KIi:s  of  mv   lifk 

ovokinp  n  (loop  and  sad'souvi'iiir,  still  strikes  on  our  ears.  It 
repeats  that  your  heart  is  as  French  as  your  talent,  for  in  the 
midst  of  the  feverish  and  burning  successes  of  the  theater 
you  have  never  forgotten  to  unite  your  patriotism  to  your  artis- 
tic triumphs. 

"  Our  life  savei's  have  ehar<;od  me  willi  expressing  to  you 
their  admiration  for  the  charming  benefactor  whose  generoas 
hand  has  spontaneously  stretched  itself  out  toward  their  poor 
but  noble  society.  They  wish  to  offer  you  these  flowers,  gath- 
ered from  the  soil  of  the  mother  country,  on  the  land  of  France, 
where  you  will  find  them  everywhere  under  your  feet.  They 
are  worthy  that  you  should  accept  them  with  favor,  for  they  are 
presented  to  you  by  the  bravest  and  most  loyal  of  our  life 
savers. ' ' 

It  is  said  that  my  reply  was  very  eloquent,  but  I  cannot 
affirm  that  that  reply  was  really  made  by  me.  I  had  lived  for 
several  hours  in  a  state  of  overexcitement  from  successive  emo- 
tions. I  had  taken  no  food,  had  no  sleep.  My  heart  had  not 
ceased  beating  a  moving  and  joyous  charge.  My  brain  had  been 
filled  with  a  thousand  facts  that  had  been  piled  up  for  seven 
months  and  narrated  in  two  hours.  This  triumphant  reception, 
that  I  was  far  from  expecting  after  w*hat  had  happened  just  be- 
fore my  departure,  after  having  been  so  badly  treated  by  the 
Paris  press,  after  the  incidents  of  my  journey  that  had  been 
always  badly  interpreted  by  several  French  papers — all  these 
coincidences  were  of  such  different  proportions  that  they  seemed 
hardly  credible.  I  preferred  to  remain  in  the  latter  dream  that 
was  so  flattering  to  me. 

The  performance  furnished  a  fruitful  harvest  for  the  life 
savers.  As  for  me,  I  played  "  La  Dame  aux  Camelias  "  for 
the  first  time  in  France.  God  had  come.  I  affirm  that  those 
who  w^ere  present  at  that  performance  experienced  the  quintes- 
sence of  what  my  personal  art  can  give. 

I  spent  the  night  at  my  place  at  Ste.  Addresse.  The  day 
following  I  left  for  Paris.  A  most  flattering  ovation  was  await- 
ing me  on  my  arrival.     Then,  three  days  afterwards,  installed 

454 


END    OF    MY    AMERICAN    TOUR 

in  my  hotel  in  the  Avenue  de  Villiers,  I  received  Victorien  Sar- 
dou  in  order  to  hear  the  reading  of  his  magnificent  piece 
"  Fedora." 

Ah,  what  a  great  artist !  What  an  admirable  actor !  What 
a  marvelous  author!  He  read  that  play  to  me  right  off,  play- 
ing every  role,  giving  me  in  one  second  the  vision  of  what  I 
should  do. 

"  Ah!  "  I  exclaimed  after  the  reading  was  over.  "  All, 
dear  master,  thanks  for  this  beautiful  part!  Thanks  for  the 
fine  lesson  you  have  just  given  me!  " 

That  night  left  me  without  sleep,  for  I  wished  to  catch  a 
glimpse  in  the  darkness  of  the  small  star  in  which  I  had  faith. 
I  saw  it  as  dawn  was  breaking,  and  fell  asleep  thinking  over 
the  new  era  that  it  was  going  to  lighten  up. 

My  artistic  journey  lasted  seven  months.  I  visited  fifty  cities 
and  gave  156  representations  as  follows : 

"La  Dame  aux  Camelias  " 

"Adrienne  Lecouvreur" 

"Froufrou" 

"La  Princesse  Georges" 

"Hernani " 

"  L'Etrangere  " 

"Phedre" 

"Le  Sphinx" 

Total  receipts 
Average  receipts 

I  conclude  these  memories  of  mine  here,  for  this  is  really 
the  first  halting  place  in  my  life;  the  real  evolution  of  my  physi- 
cal and  moral  being. 

I  had  run  away  from  the  Comedie  Franeaisc,  tVoiii  Paris, 
from  France,  from  my  family,  and  from  my  friends. 

I  had  thought  of  having  a  wild  ride  across  mouiilains,  st>as, 
and  space,  and  I  came  back  in  love  with  the  vast  horizon,  but 
calmed  down  by  the  feeling  of  responsibility  which  for  seven 
months  had  been  weighing  on  my  shoulders. 

455 


65 

performances 

17 

41 

3 

14 

3 

6 

7 

2,667,600  francs 

17,100      " 

MEMOUIKS    OF    MV     lAVK 

The  terrible  Jarrdt,  witli  liis  iiiiplacahic  ami  erud  wisdom, 
had  taini'd  my  wild  nature  by  a  eoiistaiit  a[)[)eal  to  my  probity. 

In  those  few  montbs  my  mind  bad  matured  and  the  brusque- 
ness  of  my  will  was  softened. 

My  life,  which  1  thouj,dit  at  first  was  to  be  so  short,  seemed 
now  likely  to  be  very,  very  long,  and  that  gave  me  a  great  mis- 
chievous delight  whenever  I  thought  of  the  infernal  displeasure 
of  my  enemies. 

I  resolved  to  live.  I  resolved  to  be  the  great  artiste  that  I 
longed  to  be. 

And  from  the  time  of  this  return  I  gave  myself  entirely  up 
to  my  life. 


THE   END 


456 


(1) 


**THE  MOST  UNFORTUNATE   WOMAN   IN 
MODERN    HISTORY.^ 


Lucretia  Borgia :  According  to  Original  Documents 
and  Correspondence  of  Her  Day. 

By  Ferdinand  Gregorovius,  Author  of  "A  History 
of  the  City  of  Rome  in  the  Middle  Ages."  Translated 
from  the  Third  German  Edition  by  John  Leslie  Garner. 
Illustrated.  8vo.  Cloth,  $2.25  net;  postage,  17  cents 
additional. 

Lucretia  Borgia  is  the  most  unfortunate  woman  in  modern  history. 
Is  this  because  she  was  guilty  of  the  most  hideous  crimes,  or  is  it  simply 
because  she  has  been  unjustly  condemned  by  the  world  to  bear  its  curse  ? 
The  question  has  never  been  answered.  Mankind  is  ever  ready  to 
discover  the  personification  of  human  virtues  and  human  vices  in  certain 
typical  characters  found  in  history  and  fable.  The  Borgias  will  never 
cease  to  fascinate  the  historian  and  the  psychologist.  They  are  a  satire 
on  a  great  form  or  phase  of  religion,  debasing  and  destroying  it.  They 
stand  on  high  pedestals,  and  from  their  presence  radiates  the  light  of 
the  Christian  ideal.  In  this  form  we  behold  and  recognize  them.  We 
view  their  acts  through  a  medium  which  is  permeated  with  religious 
ideas.  Without  this,  and  placed  on  a  purely  secular  stage,  the  Borgias 
would  have  fallen  into  a  position  much  less  conspicuous  than  that  of 
many  other  men,  and  would  soon  have  ceased  to  be  anything  more  than 
representatives  of  a  large  species.  This  is  the  first  translation  from  the 
German  of  this  important  work  of  Gregor  ovius,  in  which  a  vast  supply  of 
information  is  furnished  about  the  family  of  this  famous  and  interesting 
woman  and  about  herself.  The  book  is  illustrated  with  portraits  and 
views,  and  offers  valuable  knowledge  iipon  the  times  and  character  of  a 
woman  about  whose  nature  a  conflict  of  opinions  has  raged  for  centuries. 
About  her  beauty  and  talents  there  are  no  two  voices ;  on  the  question 
of  her  vices  the  world  has  become  divided.  A  patron  of  art  and  letters, 
as  to  her  private  life  the  most  hideous  stories  gained  circulation,  making 
her  name  the  most  notorious  of  her  renowned  house,  not  excepting  that 
of  her  brother,  the  infamous  Cesare  Borgia. 

In  this  translation  English  readers  are  offered  the  best  known  account 
of  this  celebrated  woman,  written  by  the  author  of  that  monumental 
and  illuminating  work,  "The  History  of  Rome  in  the  Middle  Ages." 

"  The  story  is  far  more  exciting  than  most  romances,  and  treats  of  Italian 
history  and  life  about  which  comparatively  little  that  is  authoritative  can  t>e 
found  in  English." — The  Sun,  New  York. 

D.      APPLETON      AND      COMPANY,      NEW      YORK. 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  SQENTIST 


The  Autobiography  of  Joseph  Le  Conte. 

With  portrait.     i2mo.     Cloth,  $1.25  net. 

Professor  Le  Conte  was  widely  known  as  a 
man  of  science,  and  notably  as  a  geologist.  His 
later  years  were  spent  at  the  University  of  Cali- 
fornia. But  his  early  life  was  passed  in  the  South  ; 
there  he  was  born  and  spent  his  youth ;  there  he 
was  living  when  the  civil  war  brought  ruin  to 
his  home  and  his  inherited  estate.  His  reminis- 
cences deal  with  phases  of  life  in  the  South  that 
have  unfailing  interest  to  all  students  of  American 
history.  His  account  of  the  war  as  he  saw  it  has 
permanent  value.  He  was  in  Georgia  when 
Sherman  marched  across  it.  Professor  Le  Conte 
knew  Agassiz,  and  writes  charmingly  of  his 
associations  with  him. 

"  Attractive  because  ot  its  unaffected  simplicity  and  directness." — 
Chicago  Chronicle. 

"  Attractive  by  virtue  of  its  frank  simplicity." — A^ciu  York  Evening 
Post. 

"  Well  worth  reading  even  if  the  reader  be  not  particularly  interested 
in  geology." — New  York  American. 

"  This  story  of  a.  beautiful,  untiring  life  is  worthy  of  consideration  by 
•very  lover  of  truth." — S(.  Paul  Despatch. 

D.   APPLETON    AND    COMPANY, 

NEW     YORK.        BOSTON.       CHICAGO.       LONDON. 


Destined  to  take  rank  as  one  of  the  two  or  three 
most  remarkable  self -portrayals  of  a  human  life  ever 
committed  to  posterity/^ 

—Franklin  H,  Giddings,  LL.D.,  in  the  Independent 

An  Autobiography  by  Herbert  Spencer. 

With  Illustrations.  Many  of  them  from  the 
Author's  Own  Drawings.  Cloth,  8vo.  Gilt  Top. 
Two  vols,  in  a  box,  $5.50  net.  Postage,  40  cents 
additional. 

"  It  is  rare,  indeed,  that  a  man  who  has  so  profoundly  influenced  the 
intellectual  development  of  his  age  and  generation  has  found  time  to 
record  the  history  of  his  own  life.  And  this  Mr.  Spencer  has  done  so 
simply,  so  frankly,  and  with  such  obvious  truth,  that  it  is  not  surprising 
that  Huxley  is  reported  as  having  said,  after  reading  it  in  manuscript, 
that  it  reminded  him  of  the  '  (Confessions  *  of  Rousseau,  freed  from  every 
objectionable  taint." — jVe^v  York  Globe. 

"  As  interesting  as  fiction  ?  There  never  was  a  novel  so  interesting 
as  Herbert  Spencer's  'An  Autobiography'." — New  York  Herald. 

"  It  is  rich  in  suggestion  and  observation,  of  wide  significance  and 
appeal  in  the  sincerity,  the  frankness,  the  lovableness  of  its  human  note." 

— A'ew  York  Mail  and  Ex/>r ess. 

"  The  book,  as  a  whole,  makes  Spencer's  personality  a  reality  for 
us,  where  heretofore  it  has  been  vaguer  than  his  philosophical  abstrac- 
tions."— -John  White  Chadwick  in  Current  Literature. 

"  In  all  the  literature  of  its  class  there  is  nothing  like  it.  It  bears 
the  same  relationship  to  autobiographical  productions  as  Boswell's  '  Life 
of  Johnson  '  bears  to  biographies." — Philadelphia  Press. 

"  This  book  will  always  be  of  importance,  for  Herbert  Spencer  was 

a  great  and  original  thinker,  and  his  system  of  philosophy  has  bent  the 

thought  of  a  generation,  and  will  keep  a  position  of  commanding  interest." 

— Joseph  O' Connor  in  the  A^ew  York  Times 

"  Planned  and  wrought  for  the  purpose  of  tracing  the  events  of  his 
life  and  the  growth  of  his  opinions,  his  autobiography  does  more  than 
that.  It  furnished  us,  half  unconsciously,  no  doubt,  a  more  vivid  por- 
traiture of  his  peculiarities  than  any  outsider  could  possibly  provide. 
We  pity  his  official  biographer!  Little  can  be  left  for  him.  Here  we 
have  Spencer  in  habit  as  he  was." — A'ew  York  Evening  Post. 


D.     APPLETON      AND      COMPANY,    NEW     YORK. 


VIVn),  MOVING,  SYMPATHETIC  HUMOROUS. 


A  Diary  from  Dixie. 

By  Mary  Boykin  Chesnut.  Being  her  Diary  from 
November,  1861,  to  August,  1865.  Edited  by  Isabella  D. 
Martin  and  Myrta  Lockett  Avary.  Illustrated.  8vo.  Orna- 
mental Cloth,  $2.50  net;  postage  additional. 

Mrs.  Chesnut  was  the  most  brilliant  woman  that  the  South 
has  ever  produced,  and  the  charm  of  her  writing  is  such  as  to 
make  all  Southerners  proud  and  all  Northerners  envious.  She  was 
the  wife  of  James  Chesnut,  Jr.,  who  was  United  States  Senator 
from  South  Carolina  from  1859  to  1861,  and  acted  as  an  aid  to 
President  Jefferson  Davis,  and  was  subsequently  a  Brigadier-Gen- 
eral in  the  Confederate  Army.  Thus  it  was  that  she  was  intimately 
acquainted  with  all  the  foremost  men  in  the  Southern  cause. 

"  In  this  diary  is  preserved  the  most  moving  and  vivid  record  of  the  South- 
ern Confederacy  of  which  we  have  any  knowledge.  It  is  a  piece  of  social 
history  of  inestimable  value.  It  interprets  to  posterity  the  spirit  in  which  the 
Southerners  entered  upon  and  struggled  through  the  war  that  ruined  them. 
It  paints  poignantly  but  with  simplicity  the  wreck  of  that  old  world  which  had 
so  much  about  it  that  was  beautiful  and  noble  as  well  as  evil.  Students  of 
American  life  have  often  smiled,  and  with  reason,  at  the  stilted  and  extrava- 
gant fashion  in  which  the  Southern  woman  had  been  described  south  of  Mason 
and  Dixon's  line — the  unconscious  self-revelations  of  Mary  Chesnut  explain, 
if  they  do  not  justify,  such  extravagance.  For  here,  we  cannot  but  believe, 
is  a  creature  of  a  fine  type,  a  '  very  woman,'  a  very  Beatrice,  frank,  impetuous, 
loving,  full  of  sympathy,  full  of  humor.  Like  her  prototype,  she  had  preju- 
dices, and  she  knew  little  of  the  Northern  people  she  criticised  so  severely ; 
but  there  is  less  bitterness  in  these  pages  than  we  might  have  expected.  Per- 
haps the  editors  have  seen  to  that.  However  this  may  be  they  have  done 
nothing  to  injure  the  writer's  own  nervous,  unconventional  style— a  style 
breathing  character  and  temperament  as  the  flower  breathes  fragrance." 

— New  York  Tribune. 

"It  is  written  straight  from  the  heart,  and  with  a  natural  grace  of  style 
that  no  amount  of  polishing  could  have  imparted." — Chicago  Record-Herald. 

"The  editors  are  to  be  congratulated  ;  it  is  not  every  day  that  one  comes 
on  such  material  as  this  long-hidden  diary." — Louisville  Evening  Post. 

"  It  is  a  book  that  would  have  delighted  Charles  Lamb." 

— Houston  Chronicle. 

D.     APPLETON     AND     COMPANY,     NEW     YORK. 


BIOGRAPHY  AND   HISTORY. 


The  Journal  of  Latrobe. 

Being  the  Notes  and  Sketches  of  an  Architect, 
Naturalist,  and  Traveller  in  the  United  States  from 
1796  to  1820.  By  Benjamin  Henry  Latrobe,  Ar- 
chitect of  the  Capitol  at  Washington.  Copiously 
illustrated  with  reproductions  from  the  original 
drawings  by  the  author.  8vo.  Ornamental  cloth, 
$3.50  net. 

These  are  the  memoirs  of  a  personal  friend  of  the  first 
President  of  the  United  States.  He  was  a  man  of  refine- 
ment and  great  intellectual  attainments,  a  soldier,  civil 
engineer,  philosopher,  artist,  humorist,  poet,  and  naturalist. 
The  book  is  bright  with  story  and  anecdote,  criticism  and 
comment. 

"  Benjamin  Latrobe  was  a  man  of  the  world  and  a  clever  commen- 
tator on  what  he  saw  going  on  around  him.  One  of  the  best  pen  pic- 
tures of  Washington  is  Latrobe's  account  of  a  visit  to  the  Father  of  his 
Country  at  Mt.  Vernon  in  1796," — Review  of  Reviews. 

"  Mr.'  Latrobe  was  a  keen  observer,  and  his  notes  of  travel  in  the 
South  are  valuable  in  an  attempt  to  picture  the  life  of  a  century  ago." 

—  C/i  icago  7  rib  une. 

"  Benjamin  Latrobe  visited  Washington  at  Mt.  Vernon  and  recorded 
what  he  saw  very  fully.  Then,  late  in  life,  he  went  to  New  Orleans  by 
sea  and  wrote  full  notes  of  his  voyage  and  his  impressions.  Both  diaries 
are  full  of  interest.  Between  them  are  placed  in  this  volume  papers 
relating  to  the  building  of  the  Capitol.  Prefixed  to  the  volume  is  a 
biographical  introduction  written  by  his  son  thirty  years  ago.  The  illus- 
trations are  curious  and  interesting." — N'eia  York  Sun. 

"  With  what  has  been  said  of  the  volume  it  should  be  evident  that 
it  is  curious,  interesting,  and  instructive  to  an  unusual  degree.  To 
speak  of  'The  Journal  of  Latrobe'  without  mention  of  its  illustrations 
would  be  an  unpardonable  oversight." — San  Francisco  Chronicle. 

D.     APPLETON     AND     COMPANY,     NEW     YORK. 


AN  AMERICAN  ADMIRAL. 


Forty-five  Years  Under  the  Flag. 

By  WiNFiELD   Scott   Schley,  Rear-Admiral,  U.  S.  N, 
Illustrated.    8vo.    Cloth,  uncut  edges,  and  gilt  top,  $3.00  net. 

About  one-third  of  Admiral  Schley's  volume  is  devoted  to  the  Spanish 
War,  in  which  he  became  so  great  a  figure.  He  tells  his  own  story  in 
simple  and  effective  words.  His  recollections  are  constantly  reinforced 
by  references  to  dispatches  and  other  documents. 

Readers  will  be  surprised  at  the  extent  of  Admiral  Schley's  experi- 
ences. He  left  the  Naval  Academy  just  before  the  outbreak  of  the  (.'ivil 
War  and  saw  sei^vice  with  Farragut  in  the  Gulf.  Three  chapters  are 
devoted  to  Civil  War  events.  His  next  important  service  was  rendered 
during  the  opening  of  Corea  to  the  commerce  of  the  world,  and  the 
chapter  in  which  he  describes  the  storming  of  the  forts  is  one  of  thrilling 
interest.  Another  important  expedition  in  his  life  was  the  rescue  of 
Greely,  to  which  three  chapters  are  devoted.  Two  other  chapters  per- 
tain to  the  Revolution  in  Chili,  and  the  troubles  growing  out  of  the 
attack  upon  some  of  Admiral  Schley's  men  in  the  streets  of  Valparaiso. 

Altogether  the  book  contains  thirty-eight  chapters.  It  has  been  illus- 
trated from  material  furnished  by  Admiral  Schley  and  through  his  sug- 
gestions, and  makes  an  octavo  volume  of  large  size.  It  will  appeal  to 
every  true-hearted  American. 

The  author  says  in  his  preface  :  "  In  times  of  danger  and  duty  the  writer 
endeavored  to  do  the  work  set  before  him  without  fear  of  consequences.  With 
this  thought  in  mind,  he  has  felt  moved,  as  a  duty  to  his  wife,  his  children, 
and  his  name,  to  leave  a  record  of  his  long  professional  life,  which  has  not 
been  without  some  prestige,  at  least  for  the  flag  he  has  loved  and  under  which 
he  has  served  the  best  years  of  his  life.' 

"Rear-Admiral  W.  S.  Schley's  'Forty-five  Years  Under  the  Flag'  is  the 
most  valuable  contribution  to  the  history  of  the  American  Navy  that  has  been 
written  in  many  a  year. " — New  York  Times. 

"  The  author's  career  is  well  worthy  of  a  book,  and  he  has  every  reason  for 
pride  in  telling  of  his  forty-five  active  years  in  all  parts  of  the  world." 

— Edwin  L.  Shuman  in  the  Chicago  Record-Herald. 

"  It  is  a  stirring  story,  told  with  the  simple  directness  of  a  sailor.  Its  read- 
ing carries  the  conviction  of  its  truthfulness.  The  Admiral  could  not  have 
hoped  to  accomplish  more." — Chicago  Evening  Post. 

"  He  has  told  his  own  story,  in  his  own  way,  from  his  own  viewpoint,  and 
goes  after  his  detractors,  open  and  above  board,  with  his  big  guns." 

—  Washington  Post. 

"  It  is  a  work  that  will  interest  everj'one,  from  the  sixteen-year-old  school- 
boy who  is  studying  history  and  loves  tales  of  stirring  adventure  to  the  grand- 
sire  whose  blood  still  pulses  hotly  with  patriotic  pride  at  the  recounting  of 
valiant  deeds  of  arms  under  our  starry  ?idig."— Boston  American. 

"The  Admiral  tells  the  story  well.  His  is  a  manly  and  straightforward 
style.     He  leaves  nothing  to  doubt,  nothing  open  to  controversy." 

— Baltimore  Sun. 

D.     APPLETON     AND     COMPANY,     NEW     YORK. 


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